Sibling Disorder
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Returning from a case, Sherlock and John find an injured Molly Hooper in 221B. Sherlock suddenly has to face ghosts from his past in way he never imagined. Sherlolly... so much Sherlolly. The majority of this was written before the special... no spoilers. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a mulit chapter story and has 13 chapters as of right now. I will be posting regular updates (every couple of days or so.) I will post trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter. Please read them carefully._

 _A couple of BIG thanks... First off: To MizJoely for betaing this and frankly being an amazing friend. Also to MrsMCrieff for her Britt help and for her assistance with the title... some day I'll tell you all what I called this for the two months that I worked on it...LOL! All mistakes belong to me, by the way._

 _*Trigger warning: Mention of attempted sexual assault.*_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

"John, that was so simple even you should have been able to see it," Sherlock said, walking up the stairs of 221B as his blogger followed.

"I'm not an idiot, ya know!" John snapped back.

Sherlock turned and gave his friend a look reserved only for him.

"No- no I'm not! And by the way I need to get home soon. Mary's about to pop."

The consulting detective opened the door to the flat and stopped causing John to nearly run into him. Sherlock looked around the room and sniffed the air.

"What? What is it?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head and quickly walked through the flat, looking around, ducking his head into the kitchen. He stopped off at the bathroom, testing the doorknob, then opening the door slowly until he was satisfied that it was empty. He then continued on toward his bedroom.

John drew his Browning as he followed.

When they made it to Sherlock's bedroom. He pushed open the door, that was slightly ajar, and stopped. "John, we have a client."

The former army doctor's blood ran cold. The scene was far too familiar. It brought back memories of a woman he was not to fond of and a mourning detective. He pushed his way into the room, past Sherlock, to find Molly Hooper asleep in Sherlock's bed. She sat up at the sound of creaking floorboards, looking startled.

"Molly?" John said. "Is everything okay?"

Sherlock pushed John aside. "Obviously not John. Didn't you just tell me that you _weren't_ an idiot?" He now stood between John and the frightened pathologist. "What's happened?"

She looked at Sherlock. "Can I speak with you alone?" she asked in a small voice.

Sherlock turned on John. "Out!"

* * *

John busied himself in the kitchen making tea and contemplating what the hell was going on. What could bring Molly Hooper to Sherlock's... _bed?_ He sent Mary a text telling her he'd most likely be late but didn't mention Molly or anything that had transpired. Though in fairness, he had no information. She told him she was fine and to take his time. _Bless that woman,_ he thought.

Ten minutes later the tea was made and Sherlock came storming out of his room. "John, could you go examine Molly's injuries, please? I need to make a phone call," he said, mobile in hand.

"What's going on?"

His friend looked up with fire in his eyes. "What's going on is that Molly Hooper was attacked by one of the hired goons my brother put on her as her detail." He took a deep breath. "And now I'm going to kill him."

"Did he try to kidnap her? Is he working with Moriarty?" John asked.

"Kidnap...? If it were only that simple," Sherlock said, almost to himself.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Oh my God," he said under his breath. "Did he...?"

Sherlock's head jerked up. "No-no, he... Our Molly, um, she managed to, ah..." He gripped his phone. "Damnit!" he growled.

"Sherlock you have to calm down." John tried to walk towards his friend, but Sherlock stepped back.

"No John, what I have to do is protect the people I... the people close to me. And all I've managed to do is get Molly hurt. Now, please go see to her while I make threats against the British government."

John nodded and made his way to Sherlock's room. He knocked and Molly answered in a surprisingly strong voice.

"Hey John," she said as he walked in. "You're here to look me over?"

He nodded. "Yeah, um, I'm so sorry."

She waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. "It's fine. I just thought I should let Sherlock know since it was Mycroft's man who..." She looked away, shuddered and then looked back to John. "Anyway, I must have been tired once the adrenaline wore off. I have no idea why I laid down in his bed. Though in fairness, he's commandeered mine plenty of times." She looked up at John surprised at her own words. "I-I mean, he uses my bed... and I sleep well, that is to say... We don't... we've never..."

"It's okay, Molly," John said with a smile. "I know he uses your flat from time to time. Of course I would never think that anything was going on." He watched her face fall and knew had said something wrong... _Sherlock's rubbing off on me,_ he thought. "I mean, well... you know what I mean." He cleared his throat. "Um, can I take a look at you? Are you comfortable with that?"

"Oh, yeah, um. I'm just roughed up a bit. I'll be sore, of course, my wrist might be sprained. He kicked my shin and bashed my head against the wall."

She seemed emotionally much better than she should, given the circumstances. But John was still cautious. They went about the exam and he confirmed that she had several contusions and a sprained left wrist. She also had a slight concussion. John was more than a little impressed that Molly had been able to escape. As he was finishing up there was a knock on the door, then Sherlock let himself in (John was surprised he had actually knocked.)

"Mycroft's here." He directed his words at Molly. "I've told him everything I can. He wants to talk to you."

"Okay," she said. "Um Sherlock? I haven't washed... even my hands." She held them up. "I scratched him."

Sherlock's eyes lit up and sprinted out of the room. He was back in seconds. He knelt in front of her and took her face in his hands. "You brilliant woman." He kissed her forehead then began collecting skin samples from underneath Molly's nails. "John, go tell fatty that Molly and I will join him in just a moment."

As John left to deliver the message he thought about Sherlock and his behaviour. He'd seen Sherlock filled with nervous energy before, but this was somehow different.

* * *

Sherlock carefully extracted the skin cells from under Molly's nails, glancing up every once in a while. When he was finished he sat back on his heels and took her hands in his. "Molly, my brother is unpleasant under the best of circumstances. He will be an unbearable arse when you get out there." He stroked his thumbs across her knuckles. "I am sorry. He will be defensive and argumentative and..."

"It's okay, Sherlock. I understand," she interrupted. "We all have family. Though admittedly I'm not related to anyone who runs a country. I _do_ have an uncle who runs a discount carpet outlet," she said brightly.

Sherlock studied her. "How do you do it Molly?"

Her smile faded. "Do what?"

"Stay you... no matter what," he said and as he did he reached up to brush a stray hair out of her face.

She smiled again. "I'm okay, Sherlock. He-he didn't..." She shook her head.

Sherlock's face darkened and he stood up immediately keeping hold of one of her hands. "Shall we?" he asked.

She nodded.

They found John and Mycroft sipping tea and making uncomfortable conversation in the sitting room.

"Ah, Miss Hooper. First of all, let me apologize for any inconvenience you might be experiencing this evening," Mycroft said as he stood.

"Inconvenience?" Sherlock spit. "She was attacked! She didn't lose her hand bag."

"Hmm, of course," his brother said with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock released Molly's hand and moved closer to his brother. "Where is he?"

"We have him. I received a phone call on my way here. He reported to his superior; turning in his resignation. He said that he and Miss Hooper engaged in consensual," He paused and looked at Molly. "sexual conduct."

Molly gasped and John walked over to her, putting his arm around her carefully.

Sherlock got into his brother's face. "Listen to me, brother mine. If Molly Hooper says she was attacked, than she was attacked. Do you understand?"

Mycroft backed away, putting some distance between himself and the younger man. "As I said on the phone, perhaps this was an attempt to..."

Sherlock took his brother by the lapels and shook him. "Don't repeat the _filth_ you spewed to me over the phone unless you'd like to find yourself less a couple of teeth, old man."

John left Molly's side to pull Sherlock back. "Hey, Sherlock, Molly's upset. Take her back to the bedroom, yeah?"

Sherlock didn't let go of the death grip he had on his brother.

"He did this. You're slipping Mykey. Your agent harmed my friend. If you don't deal with him, I will!" He released the older man, but not without pushing his back a couple of steps. He turned to Molly cupping her cheek in his hand. "You okay?" She nodded and he turned back to his brother. "See yourself out Mycroft. I'm giving you this night and this night only. After that you'll be cleaning up my mess." He took Molly's hand and they walked back down the hall.

Mycroft looked at John. "You don't see that as a disadvantage?"

"What?" John asked.

"The way he's behaving? Not seeing what is right in front of his face."

John squared on the man and considered taking up Sherlock's former post. "An injured and frightened woman?"

"A manipulative and cunning woman, or at least the potential for one. I'll admit that Agent Cummings could have attacked Miss Hooper but there _is_ a possibility that she staged this whole thing to get my brother's attention." He straightened his waistcoat and retrieved his umbrella. "Try to talk some sense into him, John."

"You, are an utter fool, Mycroft Holmes."

He smiled at John, the same condescending smile that Sherlock sometimes graced him with. "John, she lied to you for two years. Don't you think she could lie to him to get him into her bed? Or to get into his?" He looked down the hallway. "It seems to have worked, by all accounts." And with that, he took his leave.

* * *

 _Okay, there's chapter one. Let me have it... I think I'm ready... Thanks so much for reading.~Lil~_


	2. Chapter 2

_First off...thank you all so much for the reviews/follows/favs, you people are amazing. I, unfortunately, can't reply as FF is having some kind of issue with reviews. So sorry, I hate not being able to respond. Here's what I want to say: everything is NOT what it seems. Although I love everyone's theories. Okay... not much more I can say without giving away 'the good bits', so to speak. I feel your pain, however, because I adore Mycroft and he's being a big old meanie right now. Just keep that in mind going forward.  
_

 _ **Trigger Warnings:** Same as last chapter. Still talking about Molly's attack. There will never be any kind of graphic description whatsoever. Molly does generally talk about handsy dates a bit in this chapter. _

_I still owe thanks to Miz and Mrs for their help. And I still own nothing. Chapter time!_

* * *

John stood in the sitting room slightly stunned for a moment. If he were honest he did harbour some resentment for the fact that Molly Hooper had been aware of Sherlock's deception, and not him. She had held his hand and watched him mourn. Hell, he had even cried on the woman's shoulder and she had said nothing. She was, by all accounts, an expert liar. Molly had cried right along with him. Had that been a lie as well, or was she simply crying because she missed the man she... _loved?_ John had, at one point, thought that Molly was just infatuated with his best friend. Now he wasn't so sure. Mycroft had planted a seed. Normally John Watson didn't give two fucks what the pompous son of a bitch had to say, but on this occasion, he had to admit... it got him thinking.

He went check on Molly and Sherlock before he left. What he found was very strange. Molly was in bed propped up on several pillows, more pillows than John knew the detective to have owned, as a matter of fact. Sherlock was sitting in bed, facing her, holding her hand. _What the hell?_ She was giggling when he walked in.

"Just wanted to check on the patient before I left," he announced.

"I'm fine John. Thank you though," she said with a smile, trying to pull her hand away from Sherlock's, though he wouldn't let her go.

"Just take one of the pills I left you if have any pain. And keep that wrist wrapped up." He looked at his friend. "Sherlock, can I talk to you for a moment?"

The detective looked put out, but gently extracted himself from the bed and followed John to the sitting room.

"What is it John? Don't you have a pregnant wife at home? You were complaining about needing to get back to her earlier, I didn't delete that."

"Yeah, so your brother seems to think Molly staged this to get your attention."

Sherlock just stared at the doctor. "And?"

John sighed. "And now you're in there playing footsie with her."

"I'm not... what the hell is footsie?"

"Never mind. Could there... is there any way..." John put his hands on his hips and tried to prepare himself for the fallout of his next question. "Would she? Could Molly have done this?" It made him uncomfortable just entertaining the possibility, but he had to ask. Mycroft had a point. Molly Hooper had lied to, well, everyone for the sake of Sherlock. What else was she capable of?

Sherlock's expression grew... to call it _stormy_ would have been an understatement. "You too?" He shook his head and paced away. "Damnit John!" He turned back to him. "You examined her. She has a sprained wrist, for God's sake. Not to mention a boot print on her shin. Have you lost your mind?"

The doctor closed his eyes as guilt washed over him. Had he really just let Mycroft Holmes mind-fuck him? _Shit._ "I'm sorry, Sherlock." he whispered.

"Don't apologize to me, John," he said as he brushed passed him, and headed down the hall.

* * *

Sherlock once again knocked on his bedroom door just before opening it. He found Molly sitting on the edge of the bed putting her shoes on, or trying to at least. She was having some difficulty with her damaged wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I'm leaving. I only came here to let you know what happened and so that you could get the DNA. I assumed your brother would actually want to know that one of his agents was a rapey arsehole. I'm fine now, I can go back home," she said as she resumed her inelegant shoe tying.

Sherlock knelt at her feet and halted her progress. "No, you're staying here. And that's not the only reason you came to me, or at least I hope it's not."

Molly chewed on her lip for a second until she seemed remembered that it was injured and stopped. "Look, I'm fine, Sherlock." She smiled. "Really. It was a bit scary and I'm gonna be sore for a couple of days but you have this whole Moriarty thing to deal with. Let Mycroft handle Agent McHandsy let me get back to Toby." She tried to take her shoe back from the detective, but he refused, keeping it just out of her reach. "Sherlock..." she warned.

He sat it down and removed the other (still untied) shoe. "Molly, don't you trust me?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, deeply. "Of course I do, it's just..."

"You don't want to prove my brother right."

She looked down at her hands. "I don't need to be taken care of Sherlock. You'd be surprised how many times things like this have happened." She looked back up. "I'm small, okay. Men think they can take advantage. I've been taking self-defense classes since my first year at uni."

Sherlock felt his stomach turn. "I'm sorry... for my entire gender."

She laughed. "Don't be. You, of all people..." She paused and patted his hand. "Can I go now?"

"Oh, yeah. Still no." He jumped up and started going through his drawers. "I _will_ get you something to sleep in, though. And you're in luck as I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom, still in the packaging."

"What about Toby?" she asked.

"I'll call Mrs. Ham, she loves me." He flashed Molly his most incense smile. "Have her check in on him."

"That's only because you flirt shamelessly with the poor old woman."

"Comes in handy."

"For what?"

"Who do you think lets me into your building so I can pick your locks?" And with that he dashed out of the room.

* * *

Molly sat stone still for a moment. She was a bit tired of putting on a brave face. Yes, she was used to fighting off roaming hands of overeager dates and random drunk blokes, but a trained government agent? It had frankly scared the life out of her. She had fought back, and hard. She had kicked and punched and scratched. Then she ran. She ran as fast as she could to Baker Street, not even considering getting a cab or jumping on the Tube, for some reason. Thankfully, Sherlock had given her an 'emergency key' months before. She was fairly certain his intention was for the delivery of body parts, but at the moment she arrived at his flat all she cared about was that she felt safe. After pacing around the for forty minutes or so she must have decided to wait it out in Sherlock's bedroom. She was still a bit fuzzy on how she'd come to that decision. Though she did remember not wanting to call him; he was on a case and would most likely be very busy.

Molly shook herself and picked up the clothes he'd laid out for her. Then she went into the bathroom to change and clean her teeth.

Ten painful minutes later she was finished. She stepped out into the sitting room to find Sherlock in his chair, deep in his mind palace, so she went to the kitchen to make some tea. She was once again lost in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her back. She jumped dropping the empty mug she'd been holding.

"Bless it!" she cried, then immediately bent to start cleaning up the mess.

Sherlock dropped to the floor and stopped her, picking up the pieces of broken mug. "It's okay Molly, let me."

"I'm so sorry. It must be the adrenaline wearing off," she tried to explain as she stood up.

Sherlock finished cleaning up the mess and slowly walked back to her. "Are you sure it's not something else?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head.

"Why don't I finish the tea?" he said in a startlingly gentle voice.

Molly went and sat down on his sofa. She really needed to get a hold of herself. Sherlock had bigger problems than a nervous woman in his sitting room. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down her breathing. Moments later Sherlock returned with the tea.

"Here we are." He handed it to her.

"Did you talk to Mrs. Ham?"

"Of course, she was more than happy to help. Especially after I told her how much I enjoyed the last batch of biscuits she made you."

Molly smiled; she knew he was trying to distract her. She tried to allow him. "Why do you even have her number?"

He looked a bit caught for a moment. "I have her number and your landlord's, also your grandmother's. I talked to her two weeks ago." She started to interrupt, but he continued. "I need to be able to get in touch with them... in case. "

"In case of what?" she asked then she took a drink of tea.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Things like this, Molly, finish your tea." Then he got up and marched off to his room.

She breathed a sigh of relief. _Why on earth did he need to talk to Gran?_ she wondered. He was making her nervous. At first she liked his attention, it was distracting at the very least. But now she just wanted to try to forget the whole thing. She was just starting to drift off to sleep about a half an hour later when Sherlock came storming back into the room.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be an only child?" he asked as he frantically searched for... something.

"Umm, Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Several things, actually. I'm trying to figure out where Agent Cummings went after being discharged from my brother's employment. I'm plotting my revenge against Mycroft, aaaand," he said as he pulled a gun out of the seat cushion of John's chair. "Finding exactly what I was looking for."

* * *

 _Again, so sorry about not responding to reviews, blame FF. I'm checking on the problem every day. Please let me know what you know what you think. I really appreciate it. ~Lil~_


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again thanking you all for the favs/follows/reviews. It looks like the issue with reviews is resolved and I will start responding with this chapter. I'm very grateful that no one is burning me at the stake for the "John" moment._

 _Hope everyone got a chance to read ma little 'Gran' story ; )_

 _ **Trigger warning:**_ _Little bit more conversation about Molly's attack and some description of her injuries. Noting graphic at all._

 _Thanks again to the lovely Miz & Mrs for their assistance. I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

Sherlock paced the length of 221B for the, oh, hundredth time. He was flummoxed and properly pissed off. His brother, in his infinite wisdom, had released his minion, citing that there was no cause to consider him any kind of threat. The man's record was spotless. Every interview with _every_ ex-girlfriend cited his kindness and gentleness with them. His family and friends had said much the same. He had shown no signs of escalating behavior. His record with MI6 was impeccable. In other words it was Molly's word against his.

What Sherlock couldn't understand was why Mycroft wouldn't automatically believe Molly. They were raised right, after all; if a woman says she's been abused, you listen to her. Not to mention the physical evidence was overwhelming. Add in the fact that Mycroft had known Molly for years and it made no sense that he though her capable of something like this.

He also had the problem of finding... _what had Molly called him...right: Agent McHandsy,_ and taking care of the piece of shit himself. He had warned his dear brother, he given Mycroft a chance to make this right. The old man just chose not to take it. This man had harmed a woman, a defenseless woman... well, perhaps not completely defenseless now that he thought about it. She _had_ managed to get away and evidently done quite a number on the trained government agent, if his brother was to be believed. Something suddenly struck him. _Ah, so that's why Mycroft didn't believe her. He thought if his agent had really tried to rape Molly, he'd have been successful_. _Disgusting._ Suddenly Sherlock had even more of an urge to punch something or... shoot something. That's when he realised he still had John's Browning in his hand, he looked at the wall and took aim.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed from the sofa.

 _Fuck..._

In an instant she was standing next to him, one hand on the shoulder of his shooting arm and the other on his back, rubbing slowly. "Hey, let's put the gun away... kay?"

He looked down at a terrified Molly Hooper. God, she was more scared than she had been when he and John had found her in his bed. "S-sorry Molly," he said trying to regain some control. He was used to John or Lestrade or even his brother seeing him like this. But Molly? It didn't seem right for her to see him on the verge of such violence, especially after what had just happened to her.

She forced a smile and continued to rub his back. "It's fine. But can you maybe put that away, for now?"

He nodded and turned to place the gun on the mantle; as he did he heard Molly release a deep breath. Turing back around he found her looking a little peaky. "Molly, oh my God. I'm so sorry. I should have sent you to stay with John and Mary."

She held her hand up. "No, no. I'm fine. Just a bit, wow! That's...you and a gun. I'm thinking you might be a bit too keyed up for firearms right now." She laughed.

He took a step back and looked at her, really took her in for the first time since everyone had gone. She was wearing his pajama bottoms rolled up, of course, and tied at her waist, still far too big for her. She was also wearing an old tee-shirt of his; though it was too small for him now, it still engulfed her. She had taken her hair down and clearly had brushed it out. He couldn't get over this feeling that had suddenly overtaken him. Someone had hurt her, someone had touched her and thought it was okay to... to... He glanced at Molly's damaged lip. The man had bitten her. It was angry and bruised; teeth marks still visible. _Someone else's teeth._ He looked from her bandaged wrist to her bruised arm. Then there were the injuries he couldn't see at the moment: boot mark on her shin, the bump at the back of her head, bruises on her upper arms. He had just calmed down and suddenly he was about to explode once again.

Molly must have sensed the storm building, because she approached him, though she was even more careful this time. "Sherlock, hey, what's going on?"

He didn't speak. He couldn't. He just kept looking her over; picturing what that brute had done to her- almost done to her. His friend, his pathologist, his Molly...

"It's been a very long day and I for one could use some sleep," she said, taking his hand.

As she laced her fingers with his he felt his entire body start to relax. "Yes," he finally managed. "You must be tired."

"Yeah, so let's get you to bed and I'll camp out on the sofa..."

"No!" he said taking her other hand in his. "You'll sleep in my bed. And..." He paused. "Ah..." He knew what he wanted, he just had no idea how to phrase it. How do you ask a woman who has just been nearly sexually assaulted if she would share a bed with you? "Ah..."

Molly looked up at him with concern. Well of course she'd be concerned, he was suddenly stammering.

"Sherlock," she squeezed both of his hands. "What is it?"

"I just don't want to be away from you... does that... can..?"

"Are you asking if you can sleep with me?" she asked.

He nodded. "I just want to... this is my fault."

Molly smiled, her kindest most reassuring smile. "Oh, Sherlock, it's not. Really." She stepped closer. "But if you'd feel better sleeping next to me, I mean, it's not like it'd be the first time." She giggled.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course. It's just I was worried that..."

"I'm not afraid of _you_ , silly." She looped her arm in his. "Come on, let's go to bed."

They walked into the bedroom and Molly sat down. Sherlock gathered some clothes from his chest of drawers. "I'll be right back," he said as he exited the room. He went into the bathroom and started changing his clothes.

Molly was right, this wasn't a new situation. They had shared a bed many times when he stayed at her flat. It started after the Fall. Molly was sleeping on her sofa as she had insisted that Sherlock recover from his injuries in her bed. While she was at work one day he had drifted off into his mind palace, delving deep, trying to put together a plan to break apart the criminal organization that James Moriarty had built. He was lying on her sofa carefully organizing his thoughts. None of this would have mattered one bit, except... he had been smoking. He came out of his thoughts to find a smoldering cigarette on her cushion. He tried to put it out but it had begun to blaze by the time he got back into the room with a fire extinguisher.

Molly came home to find her sofa all but destroyed.

That night he insisted they share the bed and they continued to do so even after Mycroft had a new sofa delivered the next day. They never really stopped. As a matter of fact, her fiancé stopping by unexpectedly and finding just such a scene was the final nail in _that_ coffin (a coffin that was well and truly assembled, if you asked Sherlock).

He finished brushing his teeth then proceeded back to the bedroom. Molly stood up quickly and walked out of the room as he walked to the other side of the bed and settled in. She returned a few minutes later.

"Feeling better?" she asked standing next to the bed.

He was, but only a little. Sherlock's mind was still racing, albeit slower, with thoughts of finding the agent and putting his fist down the man's throat. He was also concocting a plan to slowly replace Mycroft's waistcoats with smaller and smaller sizes, convincing him he was gaining weight (that was only a small part of the revenge plan.) And he was still feeling confused about Molly. He had no idea what to do with his emotions.

"Sherlock?" she disturbed his thoughts.

"I'm fine Molly, but you need some rest."

"Of course." She pulled back the covers and lay down. "Are you gonna try to sleep?"

He just stared at her. She sighed and snuggled under the covers and turned to face him.

"Well, I'm going to enjoy this bed. I bet it cost at least three times what I paid for mine." She giggled and he didn't respond. "Good God, Sherlock, I'm fine! I told you, he didn't do anything, not really. Just roughed me up a bit. Did it scare me? Yes! Do I want to punch your arse of big brother? Yes! But I promise you that I'll be okay."

He rolled to face her. "I feel responsible for all of this. And I never feel responsible for... anything."

She smiled and reached for his hand, which was lying on the bed between them. "I know. But, I just want you to try to relax and get some sleep."

"I can't when I'm like this."

Molly sighed. "What do you normally do to calm down?"

 _Don't be cute and say heroin_ , he thought. "My mind palace, helps. Ah, I'd probably just not go to bed. Not even attempt to sleep."

Molly nodded. "Well, I took one of those pills John left. I'll be okay if you want to..."

"No! I want to be here with you," he interrupted tightening the grip on her hand.

"O-kay, well..."

Sherlock suddenly had an idea, he acted before he could stop himself. "Can I hold you?"

Molly looked about as shocked as she possibly could. "Ah," She closed her eyes and shook her head. "What?"

"Well, touching you seems to calm me... I can't really explain it, Molly. I don't fully understand it myself."

Molly stared at him for a moment before speaking. "Yeah, I suppose that'd be okay. Um..."

They scooted closer to each other, then she turned around and switched off the bedside lamp. They were nearly touching when something dawned on Sherlock. "Um, I don't know... how would you like me to do this?"

"Well, ah, you normally sleep on your back. So, just get comfortable and I'll put my head on your chest... I suppose." She sounded very apprehensive.

"Is this going to make you uncomfortable because of what happened?" he asked as he rolled onto his back.

"No, it's not that, Sherlock. It's just... well. It's a bit confusing, that's all," she confessed.

"I'm not sure why I want this, honestly. But I just... need it?"

Molly smiled at him knowingly and put her head on his chest then looped her arm around his upper abdomen. "Is this okay?" she asked.

Sherlock sighed as felt his entire body relax almost at once. "Oh God yes."

Molly jerked her head up at him.

"S-sorry. I mean, yes. This is definitely helping."

She slowly put her head back down. He didn't quite know what to do with his hands.

"You were going to hold me."

"Right," he said as he brought his right arm around her back.

"Can you pull up the duvet, I'm a little cold," she said.

He pulled it up a bit higher, since it had slipped down, covering them both. She snuggled in, bringing her body even closer to his. Sherlock tightened his grip on her back then brought his head down and nuzzled her hair. "Thank you Molly," he said. "This seems to be exactly what I needed."

"Me too, Sherlock." Molly smoothed her hand over his chest and sighed.

* * *

 _Snuggles! Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Yay! I'm finally about to respond to your reviews... I'm so happy. Guests: Thank you so much, I love hearing from you! Thanks again for the favs/follows/reviews!_

 _ **Warnings:** Just more discussion about the attack. But not much.  
_

 _Thanks to Miz & Mrs for their help and support. I own nothing, except mistakes. ~Lil~_

* * *

Molly woke up, well rested though quite sore. The pills John had given her had knocked her out and she'd slept through the night without waking up a single time. Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Falling asleep in his arms was, yes, a bit confusing, but lovely nonetheless. He seemed to be struggling with something; she assumed he was just having a hard time processing his anger towards his brother as well as the guilt of feeling responsible for what happened.

She got up slowly and made her way out of the bedroom to find Sherlock drinking coffee in the kitchen. "Morning," she said as she approached him. "Enough left for me?"

He looked up and studied her for a long moment. "Of course," he said in a serious tone.

"I'm going to the bathroom, be back in a mo'." She shook her head as she made her way down the hall. He was still acting strange. _I suppose he's not used to guests,_ she thought as she finished using the toilet and picked up her toothbrush. Once she finished with her teeth and scrubbing her face she brushed the tangles out of her hair then opened the bathroom door. Sherlock was waiting in the hallway. "Oh, hello!"

"I've already contacted Stamford. You have the week off to recover from your injuries. We need to talk," he said, once again serious, not at all the nervous and jittery Sherlock she had encountered the evening before.

"Fine, sure." She followed him to the sitting room and sat next to him on the sofa, where there was a cup of coffee waiting for her as well some scones. She wasn't loving the idea of having an entire week off from work, however her wrist would make performing autopsies nearly impossible. There were other things she could do of course, she just didn't think arguing with Sherlock was an altogether good idea at the moment.

"Mrs. Hudson brought them up," he said gesturing to the scones.

Molly took a drink of the coffee and nibbled on the pastry. "What's going on Sherlock?"

He licked his lips as he studied her face. "I ah, didn't sleep last night. I spent the night in my mind palace... sorting."

"O-kay."

"Something's wrong- something's... off."

He scooted closer and leaned in, Molly was suddenly struck with the thought that Sherlock was going to kiss her.

"Mycroft didn't check Agent Cumming's financials. So this morning I did some checking myself. Someone paid him to attack you. It explains why he had no previous incidents or escalating behavior. It's also why you were able to fight him off. Which is incidentally why Mycroft doesn't believe you." He looked down at the pastry in her hand. "Finish your scone, you haven't eaten anything since you arrived." He leaned back and continued. "I think the intention was only to scare you- hurt you. Make you think he was going to... assault you." He paused. "I have a call into Mycroft." He rolled eyes. "In a meeting, riiight. Enjoying _Second Breakfast_ more likely," he said in a perfect Scottish accent, reminding her that she had forced him to watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy with her while he recovered from his injuries after the Fall. Well, mostly as pay back for destroying her perfectly lovely sofa with a cigarette. He then stood and paced across the room. "You will need to stay here while I eliminate the threat. Understand?"

She tried to wrap her brain around everything he had just said. "Ah... no," she replied.

He planted his hands on his hips and squared on her. "Molly, you're in danger. And I frankly don't trust anyone else to your security detail right now. I need to know that you're safe. I'll take care of that myself, since no one else can be trusted."

Molly stood up and dusted off her hands. "Do you hear yourself? I'm not some damsel in distress, Sherlock."

"You came to me for help," he argued.

"I came to you so you could tell your brother what happened." She paused. "Just how weak do you think I am?"

Sherlock grabbed Molly by the shoulders. She winced, angry bruises from the day before flaring back up. He released her immediately.

"Sorry... that was... I-I shouldn't have..." He looked disgusted with himself as he turned away from her.

Molly had had just about enough of being treated like a porcelain doll. "Damnit Sherlock, that hurt a little. Stop apologizing every five minutes, it's making me uncomfortable." He still didn't turn around. Molly grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her. "Why are you acting like this? I got roughed up a little bit, he didn't rape me. You've already worked out that it wasn't his actual intention." She took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "Look, if I agree to stay here will you stop acting like this?"

"Like what?" he asked with a look of pure confusion written on his face.

"Like someone broke your favorite toy," she said and that's when it hit her... _oh, well... perhaps..._ She said nothing. He had been acting so strangely since she arrived and even more so since they decided to go to bed the night before. _What on earth is going on in that enormous brain of his?_ she wondered.

"I do _not_ think of you as a toy, Molly." He huffed and took a step back. "But if I stop apologizing... will you stay?" he asked looking almost vulnerable.

Molly stepped forward. "Yes. But you have to calm down. You won't figure anything out if you're constantly worried about me. I promise," She smiled. "I won't break."

He put his hands on her arms just above her elbows and pulled her closer. "You sure?" he asked moving closer and bending his head.

Molly nodded, not really sure what she was agreeing to. His eyes dropped to her mouth then returned to her eyes. He licked his lips.

"Molly?" he whispered so close to her now she could feel his breath on her face.

Just then the door to the flat opened up and Mycroft Holmes marched in. "Oh, how lovely."

Molly jerked out of Sherlock's hold as he turned to face his brother.

"I see you finished your meeting, Mycroft. Good of you to rush over." He looked over his brother carefully. "You've a bit of jam on your tie."

Mycroft smirked at the younger man, refusing to fall for his childish prank. "I'm here, Sherlock. What is this undeniable evidence you have for me?"

Molly wandered into the kitchen and decided to make some tea, looking for something- anything to do.

"Did you not think to check into Agent Cummings' financials for God's sake..." She heard Sherlock say as she ran water in the sink. She was quite happy to be out of the room even if she could still hear Sherlock and his brother arguing. _What the hell was about to happen?_ she thought. After some searching, she found a tea tray and cups. _He was really going to kiss me, wasn't he? No, just calm down before you go back in there._ She managed to kill about fifteen minutes, just about all she could, dragging it out by washing the dishes and putting away some of Sherlock's unused science equipment. Finally she could avoid it no longer, she finished the tea and made her way back into the sitting room. Mycroft was seated in a straight back chair and Sherlock on the sofa.

"Ah, Miss Hooper. Good of you to finally join us. I thought perhaps you had abandoned our conversation to seek refuge in Sherlock's bed once again," Mycroft said as he watched her pour him a cup of tea.

"Watch yourself Mycroft," Sherlock warned.

"I'm not the enemy, you know," Mycroft replied taking a cup from Molly.

"No, you let him go yesterday, with two weeks' severance and excellent references."

"I concede that you _could_ be correct... this time, little brother. But the fact still remains that it's simply Miss Hooper's word against Agent Cummings."

"I wonder..." Sherlock started then received a tea cup from Molly. "Thank you Molly. I wonder why you continue to refer to him as Agent, yet you refuse Molly's correct honorific. Why is that?"

Molly smiled as she sat down next to him, though not at Sherlock defending her title. No, she smiled because he was more himself than she'd seen him since she'd arrived. _He's back_ , she thought.

"Force of habit," Mycroft sneered.

"Well unforce it." Sherlock took a drink of tea.

The elder Holmes cut his eyes to Molly. "You're looking lovely in Sherlock's clothes, dear."

Sherlock started to reply, but Molly stilled him with her hand. "I thought if you were going to finally take my situation seriously that perhaps you'd need my clothes as evidence." She took a sip of her tea then smiled sweetly.

Mycroft didn't seem to have a reply and Sherlock just smiled proudly. After a few moments the older man sat down his tea cup and stood up.

Molly got up immediately and went to the kitchen to retrieve the bag containing her soiled clothes. "Here you go Mr. Holmes," she said as she handed it to him.

"Well, not that this hasn't been thrilling, but..." Mycroft started.

Sherlock stood up and interrupted him. "I'm sure you're eager to have these as well." He pulled a small plastic baggy containing a test tube out of his breast pocket. "The samples I collected from Molly last night."

The elder Holmes took it from his brother and slipped into the bag with the clothes. "It seems that we have to locate one Mr. Gerald Cummings. Shouldn't be too hard, I informed him to stay close in case we needed to speak with him again." He picked up his umbrella and turned to leave.

"I'm sure he did just as you asked, Mycroft. Paid criminals who attack unarmed woman usually tend to listen to their former employers," Sherlock said standing, sliding his hands casually into the pockets of his dress trouser. "You'll understand if I keep a close eye on Molly in the meantime." He looked at her and winked.

Mycroft didn't miss it though. "I would expect nothing less." Then he turned and left.

Sherlock watched his brother leave then immediately turned to Molly. "We need to collect your cat, Molly." He looked her over. "And clothes as well."

* * *

Anthea was waiting in the car when Mycroft returned.

"Any news at all?" he asked the PA.

"No sir. Cummings hasn't been contacted and he hasn't left his flat."

"Damnit. It was a long shot, but the only one we had. We can't put Sherlock off any longer, he found the agent's bank accounts. Bring Cummings in. But I want to question him again before my brother gets a hold of him."

* * *

 _What IS Mykey up to? Thanks so much for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

_This is a slightly transitional chapter. But I promise LOTS of fun very soon. Again thank you all for your support. Guests: I LOVE you all. Thank you for reviewing. It means so much to me, really._

 _No warnings this time._

 _Thanks to Miz and Mrs. And I own nothing. Enjoy._

* * *

Sherlock helped Molly with her coat and handed her the over-sized bag she insisted on carrying. Then they were off. He wished, for a moment, that he had something warmer for her to wear other than his ratty pajamas. The fact was, she was right; her clothing from that night might just be necessary for evidence. As he raised his hand to stop a cab, he noticed she was already shivering. A cab pulled up and Sherlock ushered her in. He gave the cabbie Molly's address then requested he turn up the heat.

"Wouldn't need to if you'd dress the poor girl properly," the cabbie grumbled.

"Just do it and drive," Sherlock said and then turned his attention back to Molly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little chilled, that's all."

Sherlock put his arm around her back and pulled her close to his side. _For warmth,_ he thought, though he said nothing.

Twenty minutes later they were at Molly's flat, gathering her things. Molly set Sherlock on 'Toby duty' because he had _a way_ with the feline, she said, and then she went to her room. This was only after he had given it a once over, of course. After coxing Toby into a carrier with a bit of cheese he found in the fridge (incidentally the reason the cat was so fond of him; he constantly gave him treats), Sherlock went to Molly's book shelf and gathered up a collection of reading materials. He was putting books in a Tesco bag when Molly called out to him. He went into her room to find her changed into a pair of jeans and one of her trademark jumpers.

"How long will I be staying? I mean, I don't know exactly how to pack." She was standing in front of her dresser.

"Ahh, well, gather enough clothing for at least a week. We can get more if need be."

Molly looked a bit confused for a moment but continued packing as he turned and went back to his book collecting. She came into the sitting room ten minutes later after going into her bathroom with a toiletry bag in her hand. "Okay, I think I have everything." She looked down at the Tesco bags at Sherlock's feet. "Oh, you got me some books, didn't think about that."

"And a few movies as well." He walked into her room and retrieved her packed suitcase.

Sherlock had called a cab this time, it was waiting when they got down stairs. He didn't miss the chance to stop by and flirt with Mrs. Ham in the hallway on their way out. She shoved a plate of biscuits into his hand and kissed his cheek as they left.

Finally back in the cab, Sherlock relaxed a bit knowing Molly was on her way to Baker Street where he could keep a close eye on her. Though he felt some disappointment at not having an excuse to put his arm around her on this leg of the trip. _Odd that,_ he thought. _All this touching is having some kind of effect on me_.

Once home Molly's main focus was getting Toby adjusted to life at Baker Street. Though the cat seemed unaffected, to be honest. He walked over to Sherlock and rubbed against his legs, purring all the while.

"He's never that affectionate with me and he hates Meena. But you... he absolutely adores." She shrugged.

"The cats got good taste." Sherlock reached down and scratched the top of Toby's head.

Molly narrowed her eyes. "You slip him treats. I'm not stupid." She grabbed her bags. "Now, where do I take my things?"

Sherlock was still petting Toby. "My room Molly. If that's okay with you?"

"Sure," she answered and disappeared down the hall.

Sherlock immediately fired off a text to his brother asking for an update. He received no reply. _Shocking_! He had been texting with John all morning as to Molly's well-being, but now he needed his assistance with the actual case. He knew it would be difficult since Mary was due any time now, but this was important. He sent another text to his friend asking for him _and_ Mary to come over. He could leave if Molly had a former assassin (albeit a pregnant one) in the flat with her. Receiving an affirmative from the doctor he made his way to his bedroom to update Molly on the plans.

He knocked and she told him to come right in. He found her sitting on the floor going through her things. "John and Mary are coming over. She'll stay with you while he and I check some things out," he informed her.

She looked up as she folded a tee shirt in her lap. "Okay, though I still think you're going a bit overboard. I'll play along... for now." She smiled and continued her work. "Can I take a shower?"

"Of course you can. You don't have to ask, Molly." He turned to go. "Towels are under the sink."

Again, he suddenly had all sorts of feelings cropping up at the thought of a naked, wet Molly Hooper lathering herself up in his bathroom. Which was absurd considering the amount of showers he had taken at _her_ flat as well as the as all the times she'd showered when he was there. He shook it off and sat up his laptop. Just as he was logging on his mobile dinged.

 **We have him. When can you be here.-M**

 _Really... M? Still playing James Bond aren't we Mycroft,_ Sherlock thought as he typed his reply.

 **John's on his way. Be there within the hour.-Holmes, Sherlock Holmes**

 **You're a child.-M**

Sherlock giggled as he went back to his research and awaited the arrival of his blogger.

* * *

Molly took a pain pill and decided to lay down after her shower. She didn't realise that simply traveling to her flat and taking a shower would wear her out so thoroughly. She woke up over two hours later, better rested and starving. Wandering out into the sitting room and found Mary Watson setting up lunch.

"Hey, sleepy head. Hungry?" the blonde asked.

"Oh bless you!" Molly replied as she dug into the sandwiches that had clearly been sent up from Speedy's. They ate for a while before Mary tried to make conversation.

"So, you're Sherlock's new case," Mary commented. "How's that feel?"

Molly took a drink of tea. "Odd, to say the least." She continued to eat.

"John says he's acting... _strange_ ," Mary said as she picked a piece of tomato out of her sandwich.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"How on earth can you tell when Sherlock Holmes is acting strange?" Mary said with a giggle.

Molly thought for a moment before answering. "He ah, _held_ me last night."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I know. He even asked first. It was incredibly awkward." Molly cleaned her hands and finished her tea. "He just feels guilty. He'll go back to his aloof self soon enough, I'm sure."

Mary shook her head and picked up a napkin. "This actually makes sense, now that I think about it. John said he found you two all cozied up in Sherlock's bed when he was leaving last night."

"We weren't... I mean... that's not..."

"Oh calm down! You're consenting adults for God's sake!" Mary said as she started cleaning off the coffee table.

"But..." Molly started, then she remembered the near kiss. _Was it almost a kiss?_ she wondered.

Mary turned and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

Molly considered telling Mary, then thought better of it. Surely she was wrong and if so, Sherlock wouldn't want the Watsons gossiping about... whatever it was. She had given Mary enough ammo with the snuggling. "Nothing, never mind."

They cleaned up the mess and Mary poured another cup of tea. "Sorry, it's decaf."

"I don't mind. So, you're my detail today?" Molly asked.

"Evidently. Sherlock said Mycroft found your agent/attacker and the boys were going to _speak_ with him." She leaned back and rubbed her hand over her belly.

Molly smiled as she watched. "How much longer?"

Mary sighed. "I have two weeks till my due date, so who knows." She rolled her eyes. "I already love her, but I really miss caffeine and alcohol. Not to mention the fact that my ankles are the size of my thighs."

They both laughed. Just then there was a tap on the flat door and Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared. "I thought some of Sherlock's favorite biscuits might make for a nice treat," she said as she walked in.

* * *

That was the scene John and Sherlock found two hours later; the three ladies lounging around, laughing and nibbling on sweets.

"You're flat's been overrun mate," John said as they hung up their coats.

Sherlock growled.

"Oh come on, you asked for this," John teased.

"Out, Mrs. Hudson. Stop feeding up my pathologist!" Sherlock barked.

"Shame on you Sherlock Holmes. You keep nothing in this flat! She'll starve up here. Thank heavens for Mary or I might have found poor Molly passed out from hunger," Mrs. Hudson fussed.

"Molly is a doctor, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure she would've figured out how to order up some take away. Now, thank you for the biscuits." He leaned down and kissed his landlady on the cheek. "But we have work to do."

Sherlock went to his bedroom and John sat down in his chair.

Molly was almost afraid to ask but she had to know what was going on. "Did he admit to attacking me?" she asked.

John looked at her, for some reason he seemed guilty for a moment. "Yeah. After Sherlock confronted him about his accounts, and ah well... throttled him a bit, he folded like a house of cards. I'll, ah... let him explain the rest."

"John, stop feeling guilty," Mary said. "It was a moment of doubt for God's sake."

Molly looked back and forth between the couple. "What?" Then it dawned on her. "You didn't believe me, John?"

He huffed then turned to face Molly. "No, it's just... Mycroft... he got into my head for a few minutes, that's all." He sighed. "I'm sorry Molly. He's rarely wrong and he was being all _Mycrofty._.. I don't know what I was thinking."

Molly wasn't really sure how she felt about John's admission. Mycroft not believing her was one thing, but John? "I'm a bit confused, John. You examined my injuries. Why exactly did you think I was lying?"

The doctor swallowed. "I, ah... well..."

"All right," Sherlock said as he walked into the room now wearing a dressing gown instead of a suit jacket. "We got a little information out of Agent Cummings, but not nearly enough..." he trailed off as looked at the occupants of the room. "What's going on?"

Molly and John silently stared at the detective. Finally Mary spoke up. "Oh, for the love of... John was just explaining why he didn't believe Molly for a literal minute yesterday. It's fine. John, help me up! Have to pee!"

John got up and started across the room. "It's not fine. I'm so sorry Molly," he said to the pathologist. "I just..."

Molly stood up. "No, Mary's right. It's really okay. I see everyone's point. I suppose it's at least plausible that I'd do just about anything to get Sherlock to notice me, right?" She suddenly felt quite trapped; nowhere to storm off to. Finally she picked the lesser of two evils and opened the door to the flat and rushed down to Mrs. Hudson's.

* * *

 _Oh no! Molly's upset again. I promise it's the last time someone upsets Molly. Thanks for reading... let me have it. ~Lil~_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks, once again, for all the reviews and support._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _We're going to start hearing about Sherlock's past drug use. I'm not focusing on it, but it is mentioned. There's also talk of an overdose (including death by OD, obviously not Sherlock's.) It's briefly mentioned, no details whatsoever._

 _Miz and Mrs are my queens! I own nothing. Enjoy!_

* * *

Sherlock turned to the Watsons. "Well, thank you both for upsetting Molly. As if she hasn't been through enough the last two days." He turned to follow her but Mary stopped him.

"Listen, no one was trying to upset her. I realise I spoke out of turn. But John felt bad and I just..."

"You just wanted to assuage your husband's guilt. I fully understand your reasons, Mary. But in the process, you made Molly realise that one of her _friends_ thought she had faked a near sexual assault in order to garner my sympathy." He looked back and forth between the couple. "A bit not good, don't you think?" He turned to John. "I'll deal with this. How have our roles suddenly reversed?"

John smiled, though his face still showed clear signs of guilt. "Special case, I suppose."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and headed downstairs.

He found her at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table, as the older woman made tea and kept a close eye on her. Standing in the doorway for a moment he took in her appearance: slumped shoulders, flushed, tear-stained cheeks. _Damnit,_ he thought. He had just started to feel a bit more like himself, having dealt several well deserved punches (as many as his brother would allow) to the agent who had assaulted her. But now she was upset and he was experiencing... _feelings_ again _._

"Molly!" he announced as he walked into the room, causing both women to look up at him. "The Watsons just left, taking their bad moods with them. Hopefully when that child expels itself from Mary, she'll be less prone to emotional outbursts. Let's return to the flat so I can fill you in on what transpired today."

When she looked up, he could see fresh tears in her eyes. He hadn't seen her this upset yet during the whole ordeal. "Um, I'd rather just have some tea with Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind," she said in a small, almost unrecognizable voice.

He ran his hands through his hair as he sat down next to her. Suddenly two cups of tea appeared in front of the two of them. "I'm going to go catch up on _The Inbetweeners._ If you need anything, let me know." Mrs. Hudson said then she left them alone.

Comforting women was miles away from Sherlock's area of expertise. No, that would be John Watson's job. But since John was, against all odds, the cause of Molly's emotional discomfort, it looked like Sherlock was going to have to do... something. Yesterday had been, well, it had been odd, to say the least, but Molly had taken the lead and that felt normal, somehow. Now he needed to do something to lift her spirits.

He reached over and took her hand. _This much I've done_ , he thought. "Molly," he said. "Look, John was wrong. For a split second he bought into my brother's theory. Don't blame him. Mycroft manipulates for a living. He once convinced a cousin of ours that he was adopted just because the poor boy was slightly cross eyed."

Molly giggled.

"He wasn't adopted, by the way."

"He wasn't?" she asked, a small smile on her lips.

"No, his parents were first cousins."

Then she laughed.

Sherlock watched as Molly's cheeks lit up and her demeanor changed. She was shaking with laughter. He wasn't sure if it was really that funny or if she was just releasing some pent up tension.

"Okay, you've got a point. And thank you, by the way," she said, then took a drink of tea.

He stood up. "Can we go back upstairs now? Please?" He held out his hand.

Molly nodded, took his hand and stood.

"We're leaving Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed.

Molly squeezed his hand.

"And thank you for the tea!" he added.

Once upstairs Sherlock sat Molly down and went about telling her about the interrogation. Yes, Cummings admitted to attacking her after Sherlock showed him his bank accounts and gave him a too short beating, in Sherlock's opinion. Unfortunately, the former agent never had direct contact with the man who had hired him. It was all done through mysterious phone calls and wire transfers. Mycroft's team was handling it now. That frankly made him nervous.

Suddenly Molly was looking at him like she sometimes did when she had an idea, but was debating on whether or not to share it.

"What is it, Molly? You've got something, do share," he said impatiently.

"Um, could this have anything to do with the broadcast?" she asked.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "Very good Molly. Of course it does." He got up and walked over to the mantle. "What happened to the gun?"

"Mary slipped it into her bag while she was here."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "As if she's any better." He clapped his hands together. "So, a nationwide broadcast of a dead man's face. A face I watched eat a gun, no less. Nothing for two weeks" He gestured to Molly. "Then you get attacked by a trained government agent, paid by a mystery man to do so." He paced across the room several times. "It seems we'll have to wait for my brother's people to come up with some information. Until then..." He turned back to Molly. "Dinner?"

* * *

After dinner Sherlock tried to calm himself with an experiment. He was testing the refraction properties of various glass samples. Molly was curled up in the corner of the sofa reading a book. She was so quiet he almost forgot she was even there until she finally got up and announced she was heading to bed.

"Are you sleeping in there again tonight?" She was standing behind him. He was still focused on the piece of glass in front of him, though he didn't miss the hesitation in her voice. Putting down the penlight he was holding he turned to face her.

"Would you prefer that I didn't?" he asked as his reply.

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. Like I said before, nothing we haven't done a couple dozen times." She turned and exited the kitchen.

He picked up the penlight once again then realised he didn't much care about his experiment anymore. _Hmm, Molly's going to bed._ Suddenly it sounded like a good idea. _Haven't slept in a couple of nights... just tired I suppose._

After he put away all the glass samples (simply because he had a guest) he made his way down the hall and knocked on the bedroom door before entering. Molly was wearing sleep shorts and a singlet. He had seen her in as much before... but never in _his_ bedroom. He took in her appearance as he walked into the room.

"You coming to bed?" she asked as she walked past him out into the hallway.

"Yes?" he answered, though it came out as a question.

"Well, I'll be finished in the bathroom in just a few if you still need to use it." Then she was gone.

 _Oh... damn,_ he thought as he gathered his night clothes and waited for Molly to finish. Then he sat down on his bed and tried to collect his thoughts. He had deliberately avoided thinking about the fact that he had almost kissed her that morning. _A moment of weakness,_ he told himself. Emotions were high, he had admittedly been feeling a bit possessive and of course there was all the touching. _Well, that explains it, it was because of the 'holding' last night. Right, no more holding. Problem solved_.

Molly walked back in. _Oh no..._

"I somehow forgot you wore glasses," Sherlock said as he got up to walk out of the room.

"Yeah, I hate them. But I slept in my contacts last night and my eyes are killing me."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed and rolled his eyes. _I have a thing for glasses? What the hell?_ He managed to clean his teeth and change his clothes, though his thoughts kept wandering. He took a deep breath before returning to his bedroom. Molly was sitting up and reading the same book she had been earlier. He removed his dressing gown and moved to the other side of the bed.

"Tired?" she asked.

He nodded and she reached over to turn off the light. That's when he noticed something. "Molly, are you wearing a bra?"

She stopped and turned back to him, her face turning an alluring shade of pink. "Y-yes."

"Are they entirely comfortable to sleep in?" he asked.

She huffed. "No. But..." She bit at her lip. "Well... my wrist hurts and I couldn't... so I just thought I'd sleep in it, like I did last night."

Sherlock studied Molly face as she averted her gaze and removed her glasses then picked at the duvet. _Why is she lying?_ he asked himself and not for the first time he wondered how she'd been able to carry out her part of the deception after his fake death. He dismissed her falsehood as something he'd most likely not understand, even if she explained it. And even he knew better than to call her out on it after the events of the night. "Well, turn around, I'll get it for you," he offered.

Molly made a sort of squeaking sound, but Sherlock motioned for her to turn around. Finally she did and that's when Sherlock saw the flaw in his perfectly innocent offer. As she reached up and pulled her hair out of the way he realised how... _intimate_ the situation really was. He took a deep breath and pushed her shirt up until he found the clasps of her bra. Molly's back was smooth and flawless and... _Bugger..._ He shook his head and focused on his task. But as he unfastened her bra his knuckles brushed against her _incredibly soft skin_... _Bugger..!_

Molly immediately got up from the bed, making her way to her suitcase. She removed the garment, weaving it through her top. Then she did something that caused Sherlock's heart to skip a beat and his mouth to go dry. She bent over to put it away. Once again perfectly innocent, but the action caused her shorts to cling closely to her frankly fantastic arse. _Has she always had that arse?_ he thought. He was suddenly acutely aware of his hardening cock... _No, no-no, no! Wait, when was the last time I..._ he wondered. _Oh, good God._ He closed his eyes and swallowed.

The bed moved and he realised Molly was next to him once again.

"You okay?" Molly asked as she settled in. "You look a little flushed."

He just shook his head.

"Well, thank you. I _will_ sleep more comfortably without the bra." She smiled and reached over to turn off the light. "Goodnight Sherlock." She rolled onto her side facing away from him.

He cleared his throat. "Sleep well, Molly."

 _Mind palace, just need to go into my mind palace and get rid of these ridiculous notions_ , he thought as he lay perfectly still. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

 _Sherlock was suddenly sitting at a bar, a campus bar to be precise. The room was empty until the door to the establishment opened and a tall man of about 20 walked in, a young blond woman on his arm. He kissed her soundly then dismissed her, patting her bottom as she went back out the door. Sherlock knew immediately who the man was._ Why? _he thought._

 _The man approached. "Ya know Will, I can hear your thoughts since I_ am _your thoughts. Asking yourself why, is like asking me why." Then he walked behind the bar and poured himself a pint. "Want one?" he asked._

" _I don't drink in my mind palace. Why then, are you here, Vic?" Sherlock asked._

 _The man took a long drink then set his beer down on the bar. "Victor Trevor." He spread his arms out wide. "Your conscience's go-to for all thing related to the fairer sex." He smiled and grabbed his beer once again._

" _I don't need an introduction, Victor. I'm well aware of who you are. Why are you suddenly in my mind palace?"_

" _Oh, because you don't know what to do with that lovely little thing lying next to you right now," Victor replied with a smirk._

" _I haven't thought about you in years," Sherlock bit out._

 _Victor pulled a face. "Yeah, that hurts by the way."_

" _Hmm, let's see shall we? My last memory of you is watching you overdose on my bathroom floor. Perhaps_ _I'd want to push that away, you think?"_

" _We had some good times too, didn't we, Will?"_

" _You introduced me to cocaine and slept with half the campus," Sherlock got up and paced around the room._

" _Got you laid a time or two," Victor said, then ate a handful of bar nuts._

" _This isn't helpful."_

 _The young man came out from behind the counter. "Think Will, why did your mind conjure me... now?"_

 _Sherlock planted his hands on his hips and said, "Because I wasn't being tormented enough by lying next to Molly with an erection?"_

 _Vic rolled his eyes and laughed. "Because I represent something to you. What is it?"_

" _If you think I need you to guide me through having intercourse, your sadly mistaken. It's been a while, but I have had sex since uni. I can pull without you as my wingman."_

 _Victor raised an eyebrow._

" _There was this dominatrix..." Sherlock started._

" _One time with Irene Adler, which only proved that you didn't actually have feelings for each other. Good sex... meaningless sex. Just as meaningless as all the uni sex you had. I'm here about something else. What is it Will?"_

 _Sherlock was getting frustrated. He didn't understand what his dead friend was trying to make him see. "What Vic? What is it? I don't..."_

 _Victor took him by his shoulders. "Before you watched me, your first real friend, die on your bathroom floor, you weren't afraid of sentiment, Will. You felt things, too much sometimes. You laughed, you loved, you were an obsessive arsehole but you weren't completely closed off and oblivious to the people around you."_

" _I'm not oblivious to her. I'm taking care of her."_

" _I know Will. But what if you could... have her? All of her? She's beautiful, isn't she? She's smart, she's patient, she's kind. She's a fucking scientist, for God's sake. She cuts up dead bodies... for fun. She's perfect for you. And you want her. What on earth are you waiting for? You're 38 years old for fuck's sake. This 'married to my work shit' has got to be getting old." He paused. "She's always been there for you, but you have to know she's not going to wait forever." He paused again. "She still loves you though."_

 _Sherlock jerked his head up at his friend. "You can't know that."_

" _I don't... but you do," the younger man said. "One more thing before I go."_

" _What?" Sherlock answered a bit breathless._

" _It wasn't your fault."_

 _Sherlock blinked._

" _I died because I was stupid and cocky and I thought I was invincible. You couldn't save me." He walked up to Sherlock and put his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay." He turned to leave._

" _Vic?" Sherlock called out to him._

" _Yeah Will?" He turned around._

" _What do I do?"_

 _Victor smiled. "Just kiss her!" Then he was gone._

* * *

 _Hmmm, wonder what's up next? Thoughts? ~Lil~_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks again for all your support. I'm so pleased that you all seem to be enjoying my story._

 _Big thanks again to Miz and Mrs... Amazing writers and amazing friends. I own nothing._

 _No warnings in this chapter other than **sexy times** ahead. I want to make something clear though: Molly is NOT traumatized by the attack. It was, of course, unpleasant. It was scary and some unfortunate things have happened since, but she is okay. I wouldn't have written sex into the story so soon if I felt like my Molly was dealing with unresolved issues. I really do try to process how the characters would deal with situations, not just write with an agenda. She trusts Sherlock more than anyone else and is ready for this. All that being said... Let's have some fun, shall we? (I think they deserve this ; )  
_

* * *

Sherlock came out of his mind palace feeling paralyzed for a moment. He hadn't intentionally thought about his friend, his mind had done that. But Victor had made several valid points. He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, he just acted. "Molly, are you awake?" Although he knew by her breathing that she was.

She rolled over onto her back. "Yes." She sighed. "I probably shouldn't have taken that nap today. Everything okay?"

Sherlock rolled onto his side and scooted closer until he was almost touching her. The room was nearly dark, but not completely; he could make out her face in the small amount of moonlight the was bathing the room. He slowly reached out and touched her cheek. "May I..." He moved closer, until his body was touching hers, though he was careful of her injured wrist on the bed between them. "May I kiss you?" he whispered.

She didn't answer immediately, but she did put her hand on his side. "Why?" she finally asked.

He felt her breath ghosting across his lips. "Because Vic said that I should." He knew it would make no sense, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"Who's Vic?"

"A dead friend. May I, Molly?" he asked again. His eyes had adjusted even more to the darkness and he watched as she licked her lips.

"Yeah. I s-suppose..."

Sherlock lowered his head and gently brushed his lips against Molly's. He heard and felt her gasp; even though he had asked, she still seemed surprised. He smiled and pressed his lips more firmly to hers. Molly's uninjured hand clutched at his side as he pressed his body into hers. He pulled back. "Molly, move your hand, I don't want to hurt it."

"Oh, right," she said as she moved her left hand above her head.

Sherlock leaned up on his elbow and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "Was that okay?" he asked.

"W-was it..? Yeah, it was. But I don't understand. Why'd you kiss me?"

He smiled. "Because he was right."

Molly still looked confused. "Who, Vic?" Sherlock nodded. "What was he right about and since when do you listen to... anyone?"

Sherlock ducked his head, kissing her cheek near her ear. "Because I was in my mind palace, so technically, he was me. And he said that you were perfect." He kissed her temple then her forehead.

"Oh, shit!"

Sherlock chuckled. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear before, Molly.

"Well, I've never been kissed by you before... not like that!" she replied.

"Let me see if I can make you swear again." He began placing kisses along her jaw. She immediately tilted her head back and he took full advantage, finding her neck far too inviting to resist. He found a spot just below her ear that made her gasp and caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin. He hummed as he brought his hand across her belly and nudged her shirt out of the way, seeking flesh; wanting to find out exactly how far down the horripilation had spread.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" Molly whispered.

He removed his hand and lips only to cup her face and bring it closer to his. "Molly," he whispered before capturing her mouth once again. Sherlock slid his tongue across her lips and she opened them immediately allowing him to dip his tongue in seeking hers, which he happily found. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling slightly; adjusting her head where he wanted it. He felt so primal – so incredibly masculine as he moved his body to covered hers almost completely. Suddenly he was grinding his erection into her hip. "Fuck," he cursed before latching onto her neck once again, this time not satisfied with delicate kisses. No, he wanted to mark her; make her his. He didn't remember it feeling like this before, even with the Woman. He'd felt passion with Adler, but nothing like this. Molly was making the most delightful noises and gently thrusting her hips up into his. Her good hand clung to him; she had pushed up his tee-shirt and was digging her nails into his back.

He tried to rein his control and clear his thoughts, not an easy task since Molly suddenly had a hand full of his arse cheek. "Molly," He paused and drew a deep breath. "If we continue... do you want to continue?" He raised up to look in her eyes.

Molly nodded her head. "I do. But Sherlock, I'm... confused."

He smiled down at the woman in his arms. "Understandable, since I only just figured it out myself." He kissed her cheek. "It seems in all my melodramatic brooding and steadfast instance that I didn't need sexual intercourse in my life, I forgot that I quite like having it." He kissed her other cheek. "It also seems that I didn't notice that I had been admiring your lovely form for years. Though it may have come out as insults. I _have_ always had a thing for small, pert breasts." He dipped his head taking one of her nipples in his mouth through the thin fabric of her shirt, releasing it quickly. "But make no mistake Molly Hooper, I see you as much more than a gorgeous body and big brown eyes. Your mind excites me just as much as your supple bottom." Molly let out a sort of high pitched whine as he squeezed her ass to emphasize his point. "I'm afraid if we embark on this tonight, I won't be able to go back. Tell me now Molly, if you can't enter into a relationship with me it would be much kinder to... let me down gently, so to speak." He moved off of to the side - just a bit - to make his point. Sherlock was fairly certain he already knew Molly's answer, though she lay there in stunned silence. "What'll it be Dr. Hooper? May I make love to you?"

"Oh, fucking hell..."

He chuckled. "Not an answer, Molly," he said with a smile then started kissing and nipping at her clavicle.

"Not just a one off?" she managed.

He raised up. "I don't think I could stand that. Not with you."

"Right... then... of course. Yes!"

He raised back up to kiss her lips once again. As he did, he ran his hand under the waistband of her sleep shorts. "So many things to discover about you. For instance..." He continued his journey south word until he found the edge of her pants, then he stopped.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked in a frantic voice.

"Changing my mind," he replied, almost casually.

"What?!"

He leant up. "Mind your eyes." Then he turned on the bedside lamp. "I want to see what I'm doing." He pushed back the sheet and duvet as he knelt on the bed and took in the sight in front of him. She looked like a pretty little package. It had been years since he indulged (one night in Karachi not withstanding). He'd have to take his time or else she'd be left completely unsatisfied. He pulled off his tee-shirt and tossed it on the floor, then he stood up and took off his pajama bottoms.

Molly was looking at the tent in his pants with wide eyes.

"Not yet Molly. I have a plan."

She leaned up on her good arm. "Of course you do. You wouldn't be you if you didn't." She giggled.

He took hold of her hips and gently moved her to the center of the bed, her legs hanging off. He ran his hands up her legs slowly. When he got to her shorts he pulled them down, revealing her white lace knickers. A damp spot already forming, he proudly noted. He shook his head. "Innocently provocative. You've always confused me Molly Hooper. No wonder it took me so long to figure it out. It's your own fault really."

She giggled again.

Taking her good hand he pulled her into a sitting position, then kissed her sweetly. He pulled the singlet off over her head and brushed her hair over her shoulders, giving him a beautiful view of her lovely breasts. He glanced at the bruises on her arms but forced his focus back on more pleasant things. This was their moment and he wouldn't allow it to be ruined. As he knelt on the floor between her legs he took in the sight in front of him. "I have so much to make up for," he said more to her chest than to her. He palmed both breasts at once causing Molly to moan. Then he took one already erect nipple in his mouth while lightly pinching the other. He felt Molly's hand move to his head, her fingers weaving through his curls, tugging slightly. He suckled the bud and flicked it with his tongue. The more he gave her the harder she pulled on his hair.

"More," she moaned above him.

He grazed it with his teeth, lightly at first, then adding more pressure as Molly pushed his head into her breast. _Ah, I figured you out Miss Hooper,_ he thought. He couldn't stop the smile on his lips as he switched breasts, gracing the other with the same treatment. When he felt like his job was complete, he kissed and nibbled his way down her stomach until he reached the top of her now drenched pants. "Lie back and _do_ try to relax." The look on Molly's face was one he'd remember for the rest of his life. Not that he'd be deleting a second of this encounter from his mind palace. No, this night would have its own gilded room, complete with comfy chairs to sit and admire their evening together (and many more if he had his way.)

Molly lay back, releasing a deep breath. She tucked her injured wrist above her head and watched as Sherlock dipped his head down, eager for his first taste. He drew his tongue across her slit, still covered in her knickers. Molly jerked and gasped. He looked up at the gorgeous specimen lying in front of him. "Molly, can you have multiple orgasms? Is that easy for you?" he asked drawing his thumb over her damp centre.

She wiggled her hips and leaned up on her elbows. "I ah, can. But only um, vaginally... lots of those. I have a hard time with clitoral orgasms. Well, _I_ don't, but men usually..." She actually looked at him apologetically.

He smirked. "Hmmm, we'll see about that." He lowered his head once again and latched onto her clitoris through the thin fabric of her pants causing her to drop back to the bed and her hips to buck up into his face. She thrashed and moaned and he knew she was already close. He released her quickly and removed her pants.

"Oh God... Sherlock!"

As soon as the garment was gone he reattached his mouth, sucking, licking and nibbling. He was relentless. He kept his hand away from her centre. As much as he wanted to bury his fingers in her channel, he wanted to prove himself to her first. He reached up Molly's body and palmed a breast. She was on the edge. He twisted a nipple and sucked her clit into his mouth. Molly broke. She called out his name as she shook through her orgasm. He wasted no time, sliding two fingers into her dripping cunt and quickly and without mercy drove her right into another orgasm. He released her clit and watched as her flushed body ride its pleasure. It was magnificent. He kissed up her body and claimed her mouth sharing the flavours he'd just tasted.

With a cocky grin he stood and removed his pants, then moved to his bedside table to open a new box of condoms. Molly gave him an odd look. "I thought I'd need them... before..." He rolled his eyes. "I managed to avoid _that_ with some difficulty." She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his explanation and thankfully too winded to comment (or perhaps it just wasn't the proper time, he never understood these things.) She was trying to right herself in bed and not managing it very well with her injured wrist. Sherlock picked her up bridal style, kissed her soundly then placed her back in bed with her head on the pillows.

"You can be quite romantic when you're about to get laid," she said with a grin.

"And you are a cheeky little thing, did you know that?" he replied as he positioned himself between her legs.

"You're just cocky because you did something I said couldn't be done." She reached down between them and took him in her hand.

He hadn't been touched by another human being in years. He had to steady himself. He wasn't taking this away from her, she deserved this moment just as much as he did. "Hmmm, God that feels good," he whispered in her ear. She rolled her hips up and rubbed his cock against her slit. "Molly Hooper, you are the devil!" He tore opened the condom and brushed her hand away. "You ready for me?" he asked with a wide grin.

"I've been thinking about this moment for five years, Sherlock. I'm more than ready." She pulled him down for a blistering kiss, the first one she'd initiated he noted, and it was glorious. She bit his lip, sucking it into her mouth then drove her tongue past his lips. He realised that Molly Hooper, all riled up and wanton, was like having a dozen cases at one time... all 9's. _No,_ he thought. _She's better. She is heaven._

He rolled the condom on and positioned himself at her entrance, watching her face closely. He eased his cock in slowly, trying not to spill himself as he felt Molly's tight, wet heat envelope him. Then he backed out when he got half way in.

"Damnit Sherlock, stop teasing," Molly practically begged.

"Patience, love. It's been a while, remember?" He kissed her nose and started to ease back in. That's when he noticed the look on her face. "What?" he asked pausing his movements. "What did I do?"

"You called me love."

He chuckled. "If you don't like it we can think of something el..." He was cut off by Molly gripping his arse and surging up taking his cock into her all at once. "Fuuuuck!" he cursed and immediately began pumping. All bets were off. _Slow_ was no longer an option.

"You... can... call me... love... anytime!" she said between breaths as she met thrust for thrust.

Molly's walls started to pulse around him and he knew he wouldn't be long. "My God... Molly, you feel... amazing. I gonna, nghh, come." He reached between them, determined to bring her with him. He pressed his thumb against her clit and drove into her even harder as she called out to him. He felt her come apart under him and just as white light exploded behind his eyes and his mind went completely blank.

* * *

 _I know it took a while... but that finally happened (There's a good chance for more... a very good chance.) I hope you liked it. Please let me know. Thanks ~Lil~_


	8. Chapter 8

_Sooo, we're happy with the sex? Good, because it's not stoppin' anytime soon. Thanks again._

 _Miz and Mrs are once again owed a 'big thank yous' for their support and general wonderfulness!_

 _No real warnings this time other than more sexy goodness._

 _I own nothing except mistakes. Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

Molly woke up to a hand gently rubbing her hip. She blinked repeatedly trying to get her bearings. _Oh, right... Sherlock... sex!_ Then she felt him placing feather-light kisses on her shoulder. For just a moment, she considered telling him that they needed to talk; figure things out. But he had said that he wanted to be with her. _I can live with that,_ she thought.

She wiggled her bottom lightly against his burgeoning erection and he groaned in her ear. His hand tightened on her his as he pulled her closer to him. He started sucking and biting her neck, just below her ear – her weak spot. Oh, thought he already had her figured out. Well perhaps he did... a little. Molly knew she was well on her way to ready for him when he reached down and parted her legs, bringing one up over his and dipping a finger into her centre. _Oh God! Silent, morning sex,_ she thought. _This is lovely_. Sherlock slid a finger into her channel and worked her methodically, all the while grinding his cock into the cleft of her arse. It was intoxicatingly slow. She felt like she was being hypnotized by his movements and by his lips. Finally he spoke, his voice even deeper from disuse.

"Can you reach the condoms... love?"

 _Oh dear Lord._ When he said love she nearly melted. She was going to have to build up some kind of resistance or he'd start using it to wiggle limbs and organs out of her. She stretched out and grabbed one, handing it to him over her shoulder.

"Mmm, thank you." She heard him open it; he must have used his mouth, because his other arm was still trapped under her upper body.

He positioned himself, making small adjustments until he got where he wanted, then he started stretching her. Oh, she'd never felt so full. No wonder he was such a cocky bastard all the time. He slowly, deliberately thrust into her, pulling her hips back to meet his. He kissed her neck, nibbled on her shoulder, sucked her ear into his mouth. The position meant limited range of motion but it was so incredibly intimate, even more so than last night's session. It suddenly felt... different. She had no idea what exactly Sherlock wanted from her. All those things he'd said, did he really mean them or was it some kind of manipulation? That seemed extreme, even for him. Yes, he had called her love... twice now. That in and of itself didn't mean anything. It was just a thing people said, right? But Sherlock Holmes wasn't people... he was... _Oh my God, what is this? I should have made him talk first..._

"Molly, do you always think this loudly during sex? Perhaps we've discovered your issues with orgasms."

Sure enough Sherlock had moved his hand lower and was gently rubbing her clit. "Ah, s-sorry."

"I'm trying to make you come, you know. The least you could do is enjoy it and not have a panic attack." He chuckled and kissed her jaw. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," she said as she pushed back.

"Well then relax. I meant what I said last night. _Relationship. Make love._ I'm in this and I hope you are too."

He finished his little speech with a hard thrust, causing Molly to gasp. Redoubling his efforts with his hand, Molly suddenly felt herself building already. _What the hell? Has everyone else been doing it wrong or is he just that good?_ Molly covered his hand with her own and Sherlock didn't miss a beat. He immediately moved his hand to her hip, letting her take over and pulling her back onto him even harder.

Molly touched herself exactly how she liked it as Sherlock thrust into her and whispered into her ear.

"Is it as good as your fantasies? Hmm? Oh God, you feel fucking amazing! Mmmolly, keep touching yourself. Want to feel you come. Want to make you keep coming forever!"

His paused his filthy mouth every so often to kiss and bite and suck on her back and neck. Molly was nearly overwhelmed until suddenly she was falling over the edge, gripping tightly to Sherlock's thigh as she rode out her orgasm. She was still in some other place when she felt him tighten his hold around her stomach and grunt out how perfect she was as he came.

"Molly Hooper," Sherlock said as he slowly pulled out. "You wreck me."

She was still on her side, Sherlock on his back as she tried to recover from the gut-wrenching orgasm. The ringing of a mobile pulled her back to reality.

"What?" Sherlock snapped to the caller. He paused and listened for a few seconds then snapped again, "Fine, one hour."

Molly rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. "What's going on?" she asked as she found her discarded shirt.

Sherlock jumped up and started pacing the room, completely naked. " _Mycroft!_ " He said the name like it was toxic. "He wants to see me."

"I'll let you shower first then since you have to leave." She grabbed a new pair of knickers from her suitcase.

"No." He finally put on a dressing gown. "You shower first. You're coming with me."

"To see your brother? I'd really rather not."

Sherlock moved closer and took Molly by the shoulders. "Mary has a scan this morning, John told me I'd be on my own for most of the day. Evidently they're buying more baby things after the appointment. How many things can a tiny human need?" He ran his hands through his hair. "Besides, I doubt you feel like being in their company right now." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "God, I'm choosing Mycroft over John..." he shivered like a cold chill went through him.

"Can't I just stay here?"

"I don't want you left alone until I take care of this situation."

Molly sighed. "Fine! But I was in such a good mood... now Mycroft."

"Ruins everything, doesn't he?" He kissed her sweetly. "Now, off to the shower with you."

As Molly turned to walk out of the room she felt Sherlock's hand patting her bottom. She couldn't help but giggle. Who knew Sherlock Holmes was so touchy-feely? He was much more relaxed than he had been the day before. _Oh,_ _was that why he'd been so wound up?_ she wondered.

* * *

Mycroft was not the least bit pleased to see that Molly had accompanied Sherlock to his office. _Good_ , Sherlock thought. _Hope he gets heartburn._

"Sherlock, perhaps Miss Hooper would be more comfortable having tea with Anthea while we discuss the information I've... obtained."

Sherlock took Molly's hand in his. "I'm quite sure she wouldn't."

Mycroft set his jaw. "This is delicate, brother."

"As you well know, _Dr._ Hooper can be trusted."

"Not with this she can't." Mycroft sat down and flipped through a report, ignoring the pair.

Molly turned to Sherlock. "It's fine, really. I'll just wait for you..."

"You bastard!" Sherlock released Molly's hand and leaned over his brother's desk. "You know, I considered it for a second, only a split second. Then I said to myself, 'no, it couldn't be Ford. No, because Mycroft's got that situation well in hand. Not to mention he'd never keep something like that from me.' But not only have you let him slip through your greasy little fingers, neglected to tell me, causing my..."

Mycroft shot up. "Sherlock, please! You're upsetting Molly."

Sherlock took a deep breath, hating the fact that that little tactic worked so well and that it had been used twice on him now. He walked back to her, taking her hand as he tried to give her a reassuring smile, then he turned back to Mycroft. "You've lost our deranged brother." He ignored Molly's gasp. It was expected. "Enabling him to hijack England's airwaves and have Molly attacked. You're supposed to be better than this." He pulled out a chair directing Molly to sit down, then he did the same himself. He'd answer her questions later.

Mycroft had lost all colour. "I didn't lose him, the facility..."

"The facility that you chose. The one you swore could hold him."

Mycroft smoothed out his suit jacket, though it wasn't the least bit wrinkled. "I was certain that they could. I have always tried to keep you out of this, Sherlock, you know I have. But it seems that we're going to have to pretend to be a family for just a moment."

Sherlock refused to meet his brother's eyes. It was true, Mycroft had always handled the _Sherrinford situation_ , keeping Sherlock almost completely in the dark, right where he wanted to be. This changed everything.

"Miss Hooper, are you absolutely sure you want to be involved in this? Are you completely aware of Sherlock's... history?"

Sherlock laughed. "Do you really think that's going to work? Molly doesn't care about that. She knows about the drugs. She tested me once, remember? Stop deflecting. Do you have any idea where he is or how he got a hold of that kind of money?"

Mycroft sat back down, looking defeated. "I have no idea where he is. But... yes, the money... it was mine."

"What?"

He sighed. "It seems he broke into my home and took the emergency cash I had in my safe."

"How much cash do you keep on hand, Mycroft?"

"Normally? Not much. But..." He swallowed. "I had planned on sending you away. _Not_ on the mission." He looked absolutely wrecked. "I had two hundred thousand pounds in the safe to give you before you left."

Sherlock stared at his brother, not really sure how to respond. He had no idea that Mycroft had planned on keeping him from the mission. None. He'd completely missed that.

"I didn't discover that the money was missing until the morning you were to leave. If I were to withdraw that kind of cash again..."

"Yes, that would be a touch suspicions," Sherlock interjected. "Continue."

"I knew immediately that it was Ford."

"You didn't suspect me?"

"You'd been under constant surveillance. We hadn't seen a trace of him. I believe he was looking for family heirlooms to sell. He must have been quite pleased to find that amount of money lying about."

"I assume he's taken care of the video footage from your house?" Sherlock asked, almost rhetorically.

"He hacked into England's digital network. No doubt he found my security cameras somewhat less challenging."

"When? When did he escape?"

"The facility lost him about four months ago. We've been trying to find him ever since." Mycroft handed Sherlock a file.

"Jesus! Four months? How many times has your house been broken into, Myke? How has he been living all this time?" He flipped through the useless information for several moments. "This only tells me that you're a giant failure."

"It tells you where he is _not_. We're still looking."

"And you hoped that by releasing Cummings after Molly's attack that he'd lead you to Ford?" Sherlock laughed. "He's smarter than the both of us Mycroft, you know that. He'd know not to make contact again. Good God, you _are_ desperate." Sherlock tossed the folder back on his brother's desk. "You've got quite a problem on your hands." He stood and held out his hand to Molly.

"As do you, little brother. He came after one of yours."

Sherlock turned on the older man. "And you knew immediately why it had happened, yet you tried to make Molly seem like some kind of desperate harlot." That's when it dawned on Sherlock exactly why Mycroft had pretended not to believe Molly.

Mycroft stood up at the challenge. "I was trying to protect her! If he realises how much she means to you..."

"Telling me that Ford was out there would have protected her," Sherlock shot back. He led Molly to the door.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called out. "I need your help."

He didn't even slow down.

* * *

 _Oh, I might have misled you all... sorry about that (not really sorry). Give it to me. I can't wait to hear from you all. : ) ~Lil~_

 _*Quick note... the updates will slow down, just a bit, from this point. Still regular though, I promise. Also come find me on Tumblr... same name!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you all for your reviews/favs/follows. You are wonderful. I only skipped a day AND I posted the first chapter of a new story. ; )_

 _Once again my thanks to Miz and Mrs._

 _No warnings except for sexual content (lots of that)._

 _I own nothing but the mistakes. Enjoy._

* * *

Sherlock didn't speak at all on the ride home, though Molly wasn't the least bit surprised by his silence. He could be quiet and contemplative at the best of times. Now, with the apparent return of his deranged brother, she decided to leave him to his thoughts. She had questions, but they could wait.

When they arrived at Baker Street Sherlock marched straight into his bedroom and shut the door, leaving Molly to her own devices. She'd expected as much. She made tea and settled in on the sofa with a book, resolved to let him come to her when he was comfortable. Forty-five minutes later he returned, in his lounge clothes rather than his bespoke suit, and stood staring at her with his hands on his hips.

"You didn't follow me," he stated.

Molly put her book down. "No. You seemed like you needed some time to yourself."

He nodded, then approached her. "I don't... anymore."

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

He sat down next to her and seemed to think for a moment. "I don't... think so. No. It's Sherrinford." He took a deep breath. "He... complicates things."

Molly took his hand. Did he mean in general or with them? She didn't know exactly how to deal with this Sherlock. Prior to last night, she would have called Sherlock one of her closest friends. They'd been through a great deal together. She'd forgiven him for his indiscretions of the past year, how could she not? She loved him for Heaven's sake. But this new relationship he'd initiated had absolutely thrown her for a loop.

Finally she decided to just speak her mind. She put her arm around his hip and pulled him closer. "You don't have to talk about it, if you're not ready that is. I _am_ here, though. Just remember that."

She started to pull away but Sherlock grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her onto his lap. "You are, aren't you? Always here." He bunched up her skirt until it gathered around her waist. "Why are you wearing tights?" he asked as he palmed her bottom.

Molly laughed. "Because it's winter and I didn't fancy being cold all day," she replied as she stood up and started removing the offending garment. Clearly distracting her with sex was Sherlock's current MO. She could live with that... for now.

Once she got her tights off she reached for her pants, but Sherlock stopped her. "Leave them on," he said in a husky voice. "Back on my lap."

Molly crawled back, straddling Sherlock's legs and looping her arms around his neck. "All right, you have me and I'm _tights free_. Now what?"

Sherlock gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. "Kiss me," he demanded.

And she did, without hesitation. Molly had imagined kissing Sherlock many times. She'd thought it would be precise and calculated, much like everything he did. She wasn't prepared for the absolute fierceness of his kisses. The power. It was all consuming. Last night when they'd made love it had been slow and beautiful; intense yes, but his kisses had been sensual and passionate. Suddenly Sherlock seemed desperate to devour her. He moved his hands up her back, pulling her closer to him, pressing her body into his. Then he broke the kiss scrambling for the buttons on her shirt as she recovered from the breathtaking snog. The shirt gone, he made quick work of her bra then just took her in for a moment. He slowly danced his hands up her rib cage. He was still staring at her breasts when he started speaking, almost absently.

"They're perfect. I've never seen such symmetry before. I shouldn't care," His eyes glanced up to hers for a split second before going right back to her bare mounds. "But they're just so lovely to look at."

His right hand rested in the centre of her chest between her breasts, he seemed to be making a decision. Then he let the hand continue to travel up, wrapping around her neck, pulling her back down for another blistering kiss. Molly's bare breasts rubbed against Sherlock's dressing gown, causing the most delightful sensations. Sherlock pulled back suddenly. "You, Molly Hooper," This time he looked her square in the eyes. "Are breathtaking." He hooked one arm around her lower back for support and nudged her upper body back a little, causing her breasts to jut out. He stared at her again, looking all too pleased with the position he'd placed her in, then finally, _finally_ he took a nipple in his mouth. They both hummed in unison as he sucked the bud between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue.

Molly couldn't stop her body's reaction. She instantly started grinding down on his erection, which had been there from the moment she had sat down without her tights. The friction between his hard cock and her damp knickers was magnificent. "Fuck, fuck, **fuck**!" she heard herself saying as he switched sides giving just as much attention to her other breast. Then he dipped his tongue, lightly grazing the underside and Molly nearly exploded. Sherlock, taking the hint, nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin he'd just found as Molly held on to his head and ground down on him, completely lost in her own desperate need for release. Suddenly and without warning, it came, and so did Molly. "Oh, how... oh... God!" She tried to form some kind of coherent sentence, but it never really happened. When she finally opened her eyes she found Sherlock watching her in wonder, slack jawed and panting.

"Christ, that was amazing," he said, still staring at her.

 _Isn't that my line_? she wondered, as she tried to regain her thoughts.

"Watching you come is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He kissed her once again then picked her up off of his lap to lay her down on the sofa. He quickly shucked his dressing gown before removing her skirt, then he slowly pulled off her knickers. "And _you_ are the most amazing thing that I've tasted, Miss Hooper... If you'll permit me to clean you up?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Molly just nodded. It was all she could manage.

Sherlock licked Molly's thighs, which were embarrassingly wet, causing her to squirm as she felt her arousal starting to build once again. _Oh God,_ she thought. _There is no way._ He spread her with his thumbs; she expected to feel his tongue right away, but instead she heard him growl and suddenly he was gone. Completely. She opened her eyes to find him standing up, removing his pajama bottoms, then his pants and tee-shirt.

He didn't say a word, just returned to his previous position and buried his face in her cunt. Molly moaned and thrust her hips upward. Sherlock hummed as he licked and sucked on every inch of her; pausing only to thrust his tongue into her channel. Yes, she was absolutely close again. No one had done ever this to her before, he was simply amazing. She was almost completely lost in her own pleasure when she heard Sherlock grunting as he lapped at her pussy. That's when she realised what he was doing to himself. _Holy fuck!_

"Sherlock!" she called out to him. He just hummed in response and sucked her clit into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and somehow- somehow she was coming again. "Fuuuuuuuck!" she screamed holding onto his head as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her body. She barely noticed when the hot spray of cum splashed across her belly and chest, though she did hear Sherlock calling out her name and grunting.

When she finally opened her eyes Sherlock was sitting on the floor, near her feet, his head laid back, taking deep breaths. She looked down at herself. Her legs still opened wide, cum covering her midsection. She wanted to be embarrassed, but she couldn't... it was too fucking sexy.

Finally Sherlock looked over at her. "Damnit Molly, don't look at me like that. I won't be ready for at least another thirty minutes." He winked. "Shower?"

* * *

After what could only be considered the least productive shower of her life (mostly because Sherlock insisted on joining her), Molly finally convinced him that she required food. He ordered some take-away while she made tea.

"The scan went well," he announced as he walked into the kitchen thumbing through his phone.

"That's good," Molly said as chased Toby off of the counter. He was being surprisingly good, but mostly because there was so much to explore at 221B.

"Mycroft's sent me half a dozen texts. He really must be desperate. He hates texting."

They each carried their tea into the lounge. "You are going to help him I assume."

He sat down and leaned back. "Of course. You're in danger. He's in danger. My parents are..." he paused and leaned forward putting his elbows on his knees. "I didn't want to have to relive this nightmare again. Sherrinford makes me wish for the likes of James Moriarty."

Molly gasped.

Sherlock looked at her. "Yes, Molly it really _is_ that bad."

"How? How could he be worse than Jim?"

"Because he's family. Because he knows me and Mycroft. Our weaknesses, our strengths."

Just then the doorbell rang, scaring Molly half to death. Sherlock grabbed his wallet and ran down the stairs. He returned with enough food to feed half of London.

As they ate Molly considered how to approach Sherlock. The entire situation was incredibly delicate. She assumed that something traumatic must have happened to make him wish for the likes of James Moriarty. As it turned out, she needn't have worried about starting the conversation.

They cleared away the leftovers and the rubbish after dinner. She was shocked at the amount of food Sherlock had eaten. When they had finished he turned to her and said, "I'm going to build a fire, could you grab the whiskey, it's in the kitchen... somewhere... and a couple of glasses?"

The glasses had to be washed and the whiskey wasn't easily found, but by the time she had everything and returned to the sitting room she found Sherlock on a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire.

She handed him the glasses and sat next to him. "Thank you, Molly," he said as he poured the amber coloured liquid into the tumblers. He handed her one and took a deep breath. "So, Sherrinford..."

* * *

 _Okay... so don't hate me, please. I will update soon. Give me a shout out and let me know what you think. Thank so much for reading. ~Lil~_


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry about the delay in posting. Been working on prompts and also I've been a bit nervous about this chapter. Thank you all for your patience and your continued support._

 _ **Trigger Warnings:** This chapter deals with sibling abuse, harm to a child (mostly psychological) and animal death. Unfortunately there was no avoiding this, Ford's not a very nice character. If any of these things could upset you please don't read this one. _

_Big thanks to Miz for all her help. I own nothing._

* * *

Sherlock took a large drink of the alcohol as he tried to find the right place to start. He didn't really want to go through his entire history with his brother, but at the moment it was absolutely necessary. Perhaps he'd just hit the highlights. Finally he turned to Molly and asked, "Do you know anything about Sibling Order, Molly?"

"Not really."

"There are theories that propose that the order in which we are born," He paused and looked at her. "Those of us with siblings, affects our personalities. These are just theories, understand."

"And you agree with these theories?" she asked somewhat incredulously.

He smiled, understanding that she would doubt Sherlock buying into anything so obvious. "There are some interesting ideas involved. In our case, Mycroft, being the oldest would be the 'alpha', the care-giver. That seems to fit, to a point, does it not? Then there's me, the 'baby' so to speak. Always seeking attention, always getting my way. Typical." He took another fortifying drink. "And then there's Ford. The classic middle child. But he had been the youngest for seven years until I came along." He sat down his glass. "It doesn't really matter if I believe the theories, Molly. The point is that Ford latched onto the idea; got a hold of a book, some research material, _something_ and decided that I usurped his place in our family. Made me the enemy. I'm certain that he'd always felt animosity toward me. But he's a Holmes. Having scientific proof, even psychological theories, only validated it for an already ailing mind."

A few minutes passed and he drew his knees up, hooking his arms around them. That had been the easy part...

" _Locky! You have to go to sleep. Mum and dad are dead. Car crash, there was loads of blood. I'm in charge now." Ford said to a four year old Sherlock. "Oh, the fun we're gonna have."_

 _Tears were falling down Sherlock's face. Ford had been trying to convince him that his parents were dead since he'd come into the room several minutes prior. "No! I don't believe you! Where's Myke?"_

" _He's busy, Locky. He has more important things to do than deal with a little baby and a crazy kid." Sherrinford stood next Sherlock's bed, leaning against the wall. "It's just us now. Just you and me," he said, looking far too pleased with himself._

 _Even four year old Sherlock could see something was amiss. "You're lying Ford. Just like you always do. I don't believe you!"_

 _Sherrinford pushed off of the wall and leaned over Sherlock. "Doesn't matter if you believe me, Locky. It's still the truth. I could do whatever I want now and no one would know."_

 _Sherlock stood up on t_ _he bed and charged old_ _er boy, trying to get out of the room. Ford pushed the child down, easily knocking Sherlock on the floor. "I'm in charge and you have to do..."_

 _Just then Sherlock heard his parents come into the house, calling out to him and his brother._

 _Ford turned to the little boy. "You'll keep your mouth shut about this, Sherlock. It was just a game anyway."_

 _Sherlock stayed on the floor as Ford greeted his parents downstairs._

"My parents didn't want to believe that Sherrinford was unbalanced. Excuses were made, many. But after an incident at my uncle's farm one summer, they had no choice." He paused once again. Molly was just waiting patiently. "I was seven. Ford said he wanted to take me for a walk. I shouldn't have trusted him; he'd done many other things- cruel things. But he could also be kind at times. It was very confusing."

Molly put her hand on his arm. "You were a child, Sherlock. How were you to have known?"

He nodded. "My Uncle Eric had this barn on his property, several hundred yards away from the rest of the buildings. Mycroft wasn't there, he rarely attended family events, and my parents were at the house with the rest of the adults. Ford tied me and gagged me in a horse stall, then left me there. I wasn't found for nearly five hours. It was terrifying. Evidently he had told everyone that I was playing at a neighbor's house. It was plausible. We knew the family, they had children around my age and I'd played at their home before. Ford always knew how to cover his tracks." He could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

"My parents confronted Ford afterwards. He said he'd been kind. That he'd had every intention of killing me that day. But decided that death was too good for me. They finally had no choice but to deal with the fact that he needed to be removed. He was placed in a psychiatric facility."

Sherlock took another drink of his whiskey then a very deep breath. "I had nine long years of peace. Even when Sherrinford was released, when he turned twenty-one, we didn't really hear from him. Mycroft always handled the 'Sherrinford problem'. He got him a flat and a job in the city, far away from myself and our parents. I suppose between the meds and years of therapy, they all assumed he was... _better_. But he turned back up, of course. _Eventually_."

I was sixteen, mummy and dad were away for a short holiday. Mycroft was living in London. It was summer so I was home by myself. Well, not completely alone, Redbeard was there." He couldn't help but smile. "Sorry, he was my dog. Anyway, I woke up one morning to the sound of someone in the house, and I instantly knew... he was back."

 _Sherlock slowly made his way downstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, but the floorboards in the old house weren't co-operating._

" _No need to sneak about, Locky. We all know you're there," Sherrinford called out._

 _Sherlock rounded the corner to see his brother sitting in the lounge holding Redbeard by the collar, a hunting knife in his hand._

" _Come on, join the party." He motioned with the knife for Sherlock to sit across from him._

" _Ford..."_

" _I go by Alex now."_

 _He studied his brother for a moment. He looked so different than Sherlock remembered. In his dreams, Ford always looked like a monster. Sitting there in their father's favorite chair, he looked like a Holmes; like he belonged. The hunting knife offered a sharp contrast to the picture. "Okay, Alex. Why are you here?" Sherlock asked._

 _Sherrinford smiled that awful, fake smile that Sherlock remembered. "You got it all, didn't you?" He leaned forward. "You're nearly as smart as me except you're not insane. Nearly as smart as Mycroft yet you have a soul. How is that fair, Locky? Hmmm?" He leaned back again. "I don't think I would have ever realised how crazy I am if I didn't have you to compare myself to." He paused and studied the young man."Ya know, I've been dreaming about killing you since you were born. When I was a little kid I thought about smothering your little bawling face with a pillow. But even then I knew that was too easy. I had to make you pay."_

" _Pay for what?"_

" _Living!" Ford screamed causing Redbeard to bark. He turned to the dog. "Shut the fuck up."_

" _I didn't ask to be born, Ford."_

" _Alex!"_

" _Fine, Alex!"_

" _And I didn't ask to be crazy! But thems the breaks, Locky. I can take care of one of those problems, nothing I can do about the other."_

" _So, you're going to kill me?"_

 _Ford rolled his eyes. "Obviously."_

Sherlock paused the story, lost in his memories, until he felt Molly's hand on his.

"What happened Sherlock? How'd you get away?"

"Redbeard." He smiled. "Ford released his hold on the dog when he stood up to lunge at me. Redbeard attacked him. Ford stabbed him six times before I could stop the him. The damage was done... to both parties. My brother had a huge tear to his left shoulder and chin. I knocked the knife out of his hand then punched him three times, knocking him out cold. Must have been the adrenaline. It was too late for Redbeard. We couldn't save him."

A minute or so passed.

"Ford was arrested for attempted murder. Mycroft managed to get him put in the facility that he just escaped from." He poured himself another glass and studied it for a moment. "Do you have any idea how angry he'll be, Molly?"

She didn't respond.

"All these years- locked up. He'll blame me, of course. He'll have been plotting and planning." He swallowed. "He came after you, for God's sake." He knew he was getting emotional, but somehow he felt safe with Molly. So he allowed himself to just feel it for once. It had been years since he'd thought about that awful day. Ford's anger- his rage, what he was capable of... Silence descended while he thought of the implications of his brother's recent actions. Sherlock pondered his next move.

"Yeah, I still don't understand that," Molly said after a few minutes

That pulled him out of his thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"Well, John's your best friend. Jim nearly killed him lots of times. If your brother was going to go after someone, why not John? Why me? There was nothing going on between us at the time, we were just friends. John's the obvious choice."

Sherlock thought over what Molly said. She had a point. How would Ford have known that there was something brewing between him and his pathologist. He wouldn't have. So, what was the point of having Molly attacked? Unless... unless it was to pull Sherlock's attention off of something else...

Sherlock stood up, slightly shaky after the nearly two glasses of whiskey he'd drank. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed.

" _Yeah. What's going on?"_ John answered.

"I believe that you're in danger."

" _You're my best friend, Sherlock, I'm always in danger."_

"No. Immediate danger. You need to leave your house. Come here. You can sleep in your old room,"

" _Sherlock, it's late, Mary's had a long day..."_

"John, do this for me. It's- I need you to do this," Sherlock stammered.

There was a pause then John answered, _"Fine. I assume my old room's already made up. Where will Molly sleep?"_

" _Ahh, it'll be ready. I'm having Mycroft send a car for you, don't take a cab."_ Then Sherlock rang off.

He turned around to find Molly standing next to him. "You think I was a distraction to get to John?"

He nodded and took a moment to enjoy the fact that Molly was so damn clever. "Can you go ask Mrs. Hudson for clean sheets for John's old bed?"

"Of course," she said before dashing out of the room.

Sherlock called his brother to have him send a car and bring him up to speed on his theory. Mycroft agreed that the Watsons would be the next logical targets and that Molly's attack could have been a diversion. He was still standing in front of the dwindling fire considering the many ways Sherrinford could harm him through his friends. He had no idea how long he'd been thinking when he turned to see Molly smiling up at him.

"Hey, you've been standing here for almost forty-five minutes. The bed's made and I dusted, a bit. I also put fresh towels in the bathroom up there. I didn't even know there was one." She laughed.

"I was going to make the bed... your wrist."

Molly made a strange face. "I can't believe you'd even think about my wrist right now. Once was a time..."

He stopped her with a kiss. "Once was a time, Molly Hooper... but that time is no more." He kissed her again, slipping his hands down to cup her bottom and pull her tightly into him.

"Whoa!" John said from the doorway. "Bloody Hell!"

The pair broke apart, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down. I've had to see you kiss all sorts of women."

John nervously looked at his very pregnant wife. "N-not all sorts... necessarily."

Mary swatted his arm. "Right, because I thought you were a virgin the first time we shagged." She crossed the room and kissed Molly on the cheek. "Nice job, Molls." She pulled Molly closer and whispered, "I want details."

John cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm taking our bags upstairs, then I want to know what this is all about."

* * *

 _Okay, once again, thank you for so much for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts... this was a tough one to write. ~Lil~_


	11. Chapter 11

_I am so sorry for the delay of this update. I was feeling a bit unsure about it. I need to thank everyone who has favorited/followed/reviewed. It means the world to me._

 _The incomparable MizJoely beta read this and has been incredibly supportive. No warnings this time._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

Molly had been asleep for a while when her aching wrist woke her up. She'd gone to bed alone leaving Sherlock and John to discuss the situation. Mary had done the same. She groaned and rolled over to turn on the bed-side light in search of the medication John had left her.

Suddenly Sherlock's hand was on her arm. "Here, take this. You didn't take any before you went to bed."

There was just enough light in the room to make him out. She blindly took the pill and the bottle of water from him, trusting that he could see her, even if she couldn't see him yet. "I know it's just a sprain, but..." She swallowed the pill and took a drink of water. "It really hurts. I think I was sleeping on it." She tried to focus on Sherlock as much as she could in the dark room. "You okay?" she asked as she settled back in bed.

Sherlock was still sitting up, facing her. "You're all in danger. Mycroft hasn't found our brother, not even a trace." He huffed. "I actually don't know what do, Molly."

He sounded so defeated. She knew that talking to her about his brother, and most likely going through the whole mess again with John, must have been draining. It broke her heart to see him like this. "You'll figure it out, Sherlock."

"That's just it... I don't know..."

There was a long pause, and Molly wished she could better see his face. He could be so expressive when he wasn't trying to shield himself.

"Why do I feel like I'm sixteen again?" he asked.

 _Oh God,_ Molly thought. _He's actually scared._ "Sherlock, it's okay to be..." She knew she had to choose her words carefully. "...worried. But..."

"I could send you away," he interrupted. "You could go stay with my parents, wherever Mycroft's put them."

"Yeah, good luck with that." She forced a laugh.

"John wasn't agreeable to that solution either." After another long pause he spoke again, "He's not like Jim, this isn't a game, Molly. It's his twisted revenge. This _will_ end badly."

She still couldn't make out his face clearly, but she didn't need to anymore. She knew what he was feeling. She'd seen it when he'd told her about his brother and she could practically feel it now. He was absolutely terrified. And almost nothing scared Sherlock Holmes. This was something quite different.

She reached up and tugged his head closer to hers. "Hey, you can't protect us all the time. But you're Sherlock bloody Holmes. You've got Mycroft and the British government. You've got John and Mary. Even pregnant- _especially_ pregnant- I wouldn't mess with her. And you know what? You've got me. I'm the only person who every successfully killed you. I'd say that makes me pretty fucking amazing."

Molly had barely finished her sentence before Sherlock's lips were upon hers. How he'd gone from sitting nearly upright, to pressing her into the mattress so quickly, she didn't quite know, but at that moment it was unimportant. His tongue invaded her mouth again and again as he rucked up her shirt, searching for skin. He kissed across her jaw then sucked onto the skin of her neck.

She had to stop him. She wasn't about to have sex with Mary and John Watson sleeping just over their heads. "Sh-Sherlock...

"Hmmm?"

"We, ahhh, oh God. We have to stop," she finally managed.

"Why?" he whispered next to her ear, then reattached himself to her neck.

"Because John and M-M-Mary," she said in a giggle because he was tickling her ribs. She wasn't stupid, he was trying his damnedest to divert her attention. How the man could go from worried over his brother's possible threat to playfully horny in a split second was beyond her. But she still had to put a stop to it, and he was _still_ sucking on her neck. "They'll hear us." She pushed on his chest.

He leaned up. "How many times do you think I've had to hear John and his conquests right above _my_ head?

"Considering how many times you kept me company on my overnight shifts, I'd say not that many. You talk about him like he was some kind of slut!" She laughed.

He grumbled, but finally got the message and moved to one side, resting his head on her chest. Then he sighed. "I won't let him hurt you, Molly."

She carded her fingers through his hair. "I know you won't, Sherlock."

* * *

The next day Molly and Mary sat and watched as Sherlock and John argued like an old married couple about John going to work. It amused the women to no end.

"I have an actual job, you drama queen," John barked as he put on his shoes.

"I'm aware, _Doctor_ ," Sherlock argued. "But don't you see that..."

John stood up and put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, causing the detective to raise an eyebrow. "I'm going. I _will_ allow one of Mycroft's agents to drive me. But I have patients and a mortgage and a baby that will be here any day. Do you understand that babies need things like nappies and clothes and a place to sleep?"

Sherlock shrugged out of John's hold. "I've heard the rumors." He pulled out his phone as he walked into the kitchen.

John turned to Mary and Molly giving them an exasperated look. He grabbed his keys and wallet then put on his coat, clearly intent on making a quick get get-away.

Just then Sherlock came rushing back into the room. "You have a call." He shoved his mobile in John's face."

The doctor sighed and took the device. "Hullo?" he said as he walked away.

"What'd you do?" Molly asked.

"I tattled," Sherlock answered with a satisfied look on his face.

"To who?" Mary asked.

"Greg," he said innocently.

The women stared at him in awe.

"What? He's his friend and a police detective, surely..."

"No, Sherlock. I think I speak for both myself and Molly when I say we're shocked that you actually got his name right."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and started to speak when John tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry mate. Didn't work." He handed him back his mobile.

"What'd you mean? He said..."

"Yeah, he lied," John said with a smile. He walked over to his wife and kissed her soundly then he turned to Molly. "We're okay?"

"Of course we are." She kissed his cheek.

"Mary Watson, I'm shocked that you're allowing him to just leave," Sherlock interjected.

All three people looked at Sherlock as if he'd lost his mind. "If you think I somehow run my husband's life..."

"Fine!" Sherlock said then he stormed to his room slamming the door.

Molly sighed and got up. "I'll talk to him."

There was no answer when she knocked on the door, though she hadn't expected one, so she went right in.

"Not now Molly," Sherlock barked at her from the window on the other side of the room.

"Sherlock, all of Mycroft's agents have been double and triple checked since..."

"I know!" he snapped. He ran his hands through his hair. "It's this waiting, Molly. I feel so... so... useless." He paced across the room. "He's a needle in a damn haystack. I can't just go looking for him." He turned to face her. "I know almost nothing about him. Frankly I knew more about Moriarty. I didn't keep tabs on Ford. I've done my best to forget about him. And apparently he's kept a close eye on me. Not a difficult thing to do since I've become a public figure." He sighed and resumed his pacing.

"Do you think he's waiting for something?" she asked. She'd done this in the past, in the lab, thrown out questions to try to get Sherlock talking. In this case she wanted him to _keep_ him talking.

"Unfortunately, yes. That's exactly what I'm afraid of. I may not know my brother very well, but I do know brilliant psychopaths. And the birth of my best friend's first child would make for the perfect moment to do... whatever he's planning." He walked away from her, facing his wardrobe.

"Okay, see you don't need to know Ford, just his type. We'll plan for every contingency." She stood up and crossed the room. When she reached Sherlock she took a deep breath before putting her arms around his waist and resting her head on his back.

After a moment she felt Sherlock's hands settle on top of hers, his fingers intertwining their way between her much smaller ones. "Thank you, Molly," he said quietly.

* * *

And that's exactly what they did. Sherlock and Mycroft planned, trying to anticipate their brother's next move. As they did they kept John, Mary and Molly as informed as possible. The two couples went about their lives as normally as they could. John went to work, every day. Molly went back to work as well a couple of days later, always accompanied by an agent, sometimes by Sherlock himself. Mary and Mrs. Hudson stayed at Baker Street if there wasn't something more pressing to drag them away, like baby shopping or a date in Mrs. H's case.

Everyone tried to behave as if this threat wasn't looming over their heads. Sherlock took cases, at least a few. Molly could see that his heart wasn't really in it, though. He was distracted and nervous.

Mycroft and his team continued to search for Sherrinford, but they found nothing. Sherlock told Molly that he knew from personal experience that one man could easily stay hidden if he wished.

Sherlock felt like Ford was close, like he was waiting around the next corner every time Sherlock walked out of the flat to go to Barts with Molly or to leave for a case. He could practically feel his brother's eyes on him. He never shared his feeling with his friends or even Mycroft. He just kept his ever sharp eye focused on the crowds around him, searching.

He hoped he was wrong. He very nearly prayed.

But he wasn't wrong.

Sherrinford smiled as he watched his little brother walk down the pavement. Sherlock's head perked up at movement in his peripheral vision. Ford, though he went by Alex these days, if only to himself, looked to see what had caught Sherlock's attention. Yes, one of his homeless people. _Funny_ , he thought. _Sherlock does love his little collection of tramps_. But no, Alex had decided to strike closer to Sherlock. He wanted to hurt him again like he'd hurt him before. That had felt so good. He'd seen the pain in his brother's face when he realised his precious Redbeard was gone. Alex's smile widened at the memory.

 _Almost time, little brother._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your reviews would be greatly appreciated, just a few more chapters to go. ~Lil~_


	12. Chapter 12

_Once again, thank you all for your continued support. Your reviews are amazing! Really, I LOVE hearing from you all! Big thinks to MizJoely for all her beta work, she's a wonderful friend. Also thanks to MrsMCrieff for her help on the restroom issues... all of our conversations seem to center around potty talk! LOL_

 _ **Warnings** : There be sexy times below and LOTS of dirty talk. That's about it. A guest asked if Ford was going to hurt Toby. No, he's not. It was hard enough to write the Redbeard moment. No more harming animals. _

_I own nothing. Enjoy!~Lil~_

* * *

Sherlock woke up when he heard the creaking of his floorboards. He opened his eyes to see Molly, a towel wrapped around her damp body, going through bottom of his chest of drawers. She'd finally given in and put her clothes away instead of living out of her suitcases and she was currently giving him a tantalizing view. He knew she thought he was still asleep, and that staring at her exposed cunt was borderline creepy... but that didn't mean he would be stopping any time soon.

"It's impolite to stare, you know," Molly said, still bent over.

 _Caught... Damn._

She raised up. "Your breathing changed when you saw me bend over. You're not the only one who can observe, Mr. Holmes."

As she turned around he saw the smirk on her lips and the clothes in her hand. He desperately hoped she didn't have any plan on getting dressed anytime soon.

"All rested up? You were out quite late last night."

"Yes," he answered. He didn't miss the hint of longing present, even in that single word.

"John and Mary are at a scan," she said as she tossed the clothes onto a chair.

He watched the clothes drop and felt his spirits rise.

She planted her hands on her hips. "We're all alone."

Sherlock swallowed. It had been too long, far too long. Between Molly's ridiculous rule about not shagging with the Watsons in the house and his constant worry about the Sherrinford situation, it had been nearly two weeks since he'd made love to Molly. He was suddenly dying to taste her. He wanted to hear her scream. He was already half hard just thinking about it.

Molly dropped the towel just as she got to the bed and Sherlock started scrambling out from underneath the duvet to reach for her, but she wouldn't allow it. She pushed him onto his back. He tried to complain, but was stopped once again when Molly's hand landed on his cock as she crawled on top of him. Her mouth claimed his as she stroked him through his pants.

He gave into her, enjoying her dominance for a change. She tasted of tea and mint and a particular sweetness that he'd come to associate with Molly. She slid her mouth across his jaw, nipping and kissing until she reached his neck. Her breasts brushed up against his chest, almost tickling. She bit down on his neck hard enough to leave a mark, then soothed it with her tongue making his cock throb. That's when Sherlock decided he was finished being passive. He tried to flip them, but Molly put her hand on the bed next to them, halting the move.

"No! There's something I want to do," she said and suddenly Sherlock felt like he was about to be eaten alive.

Molly kissed across his chest, taking time to lick and suck at each nipple. Just when Sherlock was sure he couldn't take much more she moved lower. He realised what she was planning and asked, "Your wrist?"

"Is fine," she said looking up and peeled off his pants, freeing his cock.

That was reassurance enough for him. He kicked his pants off and looked down at his Molly as she took him in hand and smiled wickedly.

"You love eating my pussy, don't you Sherlock?" she asked then she licked the pearl of liquid that had escaped.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thought. "I don't think I've tried to hide that fact, love."

"Yet you've never let me return the favor." She kissed the tip. "Why?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "It's not, ah, really necessary. Besides, I'm usually in a hurry to be inside you."

"Well there was that one time..." she started.

"Got carried away, and the condoms were in the bedroom. You plan on doing anything with that?" he asked motioning with his head.

"Bossy, even now with your cock in my hands." She laughed then she slowly lowered her head, letting him slip into her mouth little by little.

He breathed out as she finally took as much as she could, his prick touching the back of her throat. He had to make himself not thrust up as she pulled back out, wanting to feel that again. She worked him with her hand as she licked the underside, cupping his balls and she worked him harder and harder humming as she sucked. And even though it felt fucking fantastic, he wasn't going to come. Molly's mouth wasn't what he wanted after nearly two weeks, not by a long shot. Though she was doing an amazing job of trying to change his mind.

She looked up at him. Oh, she wanted him to come. He could see it in her eyes. "Molly," he said. "That feels so... I-I need...ahhh... _you_."

She pulled off, but continued to work him with her hand. "How do you want me?"

He raised his eyebrow. "My choice? Belated birthday gift?"

She giggled.

"Stand."

She gave his cock one more lick, then got up off of the bed. Sherlock sat up and pulled her between his legs. "Are you wet? Bet you are. You enjoyed that, didn't you?" He rubbed his thumb just inside her lips. "Naughty, Molly. Getting turned on just by sucking my cock. And all these years I thought you were a good girl." He continued to play with her clit. She was holding onto his shoulders and Sherlock couldn't help but admire how quickly she could become a quivering mess. He took one nipple in his mouth, biting down with the right amount of pressure, flicking the tip with his tongue.

"Please, Sherlock." She threw her head back.

He stood up quickly. "Knees on the bed, bend over, Molly."

She whimpered then complied as Sherlock grabbed a condom and rolled it on. Oh the sight of her lovely, pert bottom up in the air, and her pussy so open and wet for him. He had to take yet another deep breath and calm himself. He ran one hand down her back as he gripped her hip with the other. Her skin was always so soft but even more so right now, since she had just gotten out of the bath and had clearly scrubbed her body then applied his favorite apple scented lotion.

He took himself in hand and slowly entered her. She felt amazing, but she always did. Molly called his name as he bottomed out, asking him to fuck her. He couldn't deny her any longer. He gripped her hips with both hands and pounded as hard and as fast as he could. Molly came almost instantly, her core gripping him tighter than he'd experienced before, the new position and extra leverage clearly giving her just what she wanted. She babbled incoherently into the mattress as he continued to thrust into her and felt his orgasm build. But he wasn't finished with her. He reached down and pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

"Come on, Molly. One more, love," he said as he rubbed circles around the tiny bud.

He was close and he needed to take her with him when he fell. He felt her tightening once again and she raised up, pushing hard against his cock. "Fuck yes! Oh God, Sherlock! I love your cock!" she called out just before her second climax took them both. Sherlock pulled her up flush against his chest, holding her there as he emptied into her, needing to feel their bodies touching as much as possible. He bit down onto her shoulder to keep from screaming in her ear as the waves of pleasure washed over him.

Finally regaining his ability to think once again, he carefully lowered her to the bed and took care of the condom, then joined her. "I've missed that so much," he said as took her hand, kissing the back of it.

"Me too," was her breathy reply.

* * *

Molly washed up quickly while Sherlock was recovering, then he jumped into the shower. It was her day off and she'd already asked him if he'd go with her to her flat so she could collect more clothes and some notes on an article she was writing.

Sherlock's phone rang and Molly ignored it as she tidied up the sitting room. Less than a minute later it started ringing again, getting her attention. She found it in the kitchen and saw that it was John so she decided to answer it, just in case.

"Everything okay, John?"

" _No, well, yes. By yes I mean no._ " He then growled. " _Mary's in labour. We're on our way back to the hospital. We were having lunch after the scan when the contractions started._ "

"Oh, that's great!" she said, though a feeling of dread filled her stomach. "Sherlock's in the shower. We'll head that way as soon as he's out."

" _Okay, good, great, right! That's good._ "

"John, breathe. How's Mary?"

" _Ahh, she's, well, she's doing better than me, actually,_ " he admitted.

"Well, try to stay calm. Do you need anything?"

She heard Mary's voice in the background. " _Oh yes, can you bring Mary's bag? It's in our room_."

"Of course. Love you both!" Molly rang off and headed to the bathroom. She knocked then walked right in. "Sherlock? John just called, Mary's in labour. They're on their way back to Barts."

Sherlock threw back the shower curtain and started to jump out, Molly held up both her hands at once. "Wait! You're covered in soap! And you have to rinse your hair!" He looked confused for a moment then got back into the still-running shower.

Molly shook her head and marveled at John and Sherlock's reactions.

"Call Mycroft, tell him to implement the stork protocols," he called out over the sound of the shower.

"Fine," Molly said as she found his brother's number. "Anything else?"

"No, just... umm, well..."

"Sherlock, breathe."

He didn't answer, so she could only hope he was actually breathing behind the curtain.

* * *

Almost forty-five minutes later Molly and Sherlock arrived at St. Barts. Molly had Mary's bag in one hand and Sherlock's hand in her other.

He was nervous, that much was obvious. His best friend was about to become a father and his murderous brother would most likely take this moment to make his move. Molly hadn't attempted to engage him in conversation on the ride to the hospital. She just let him make his plans and send his texts. Now he was walking through the corridors, gripping her hand so tightly it was nearly no, it _was_ painful...

"Sherlock," she whispered to him. But he ignored her, so she tugged on his arm. He still ignored her and actually picked up his pace. "Sherlock!" she said louder finally getting his attention causing him to stop. "My hand."

He looked a bit lost for a moment, but finally let go of her. "Oh. Was I...?" He flexed his fingers. "Right, let's find John."

Molly looped her arm through his. "Can we walk a little slower, please. My legs are significantly shorter than yours."

He glanced down. "Of course."

They finally reached maternity department. Molly asked about Mary at the nurses station while Sherlock sent another text. Just then John rounded the corner.

"They're giving her an epidural," he said, then he kissed Molly on the cheek.

"I have her bag."

"Oh, right." He looked a bit worse for wear. "I'll take that, I suppose."

"Everything's in place. Are there agents at the birthing suite?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I'm glad her doctor has privileges here at Barts. At least people are used to this sort of thing from us." Then a nervous laugh escaped the former army doctor. "Look there's a waiting room just outside her suite." He motioned for them to follow him.

Sherlock started but Molly stopped him. "I'll be right there. I have to use the ladies."

"I'll come with you," Sherlock said casually.

"I don't think you will." She laughed. "I've been doing this on my own since I was about two years old if my Gran's to be believed." She turned to leave, but Sherlock grabbed her wrist.

"Let me get an agent..."

"I need to go now. Not in ten minutes when you round up an agent. Besides, they need to be focused on John and Mary. Look, I walk around this hospital every day. I'm fairly well known. It's just around the corner." She reached up and touched his cheek. "Let me go wee, and you go become an uncle."

He gave her one last concerned look, then took her face in his hands and kissed her... hard. It was a little disarming; he didn't often do that sort of thing in public. When the kiss ended he said, "Be careful, Molly Hooper. Come straight back here."

She sighed and nodded then walked away shaking her head. _That man_ , she thought as she rounded the corner to the public toilets. _Out of order, lovely._ She went back out to the main corridor. There were more toilets about three corridors away or she could take the lift down a floor. She decided on the lift because it would be quicker.

Just as the doors were about to close a doctor jumped on. He looked vaguely familiar but she didn't think much of it. She certainly didn't know every physician who worked at Barts. He was wearing a surgical cap and scrubs. Molly had already pressed the button for floor below and he made no move to the control panel. A couple of minutes later they'd reached their floor. He smiled as Molly walked out. Something about him made her skin crawl, but she dismissed it to the general tone of the day.

Across the hall and around the corner were the closest public toilets and Molly was quite relieved. Just as she finished taking care of her business she heard someone else enter. When she made her way out of the stall to towards the sinks she saw him; the doctor from the lift was standing in front of the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she felt herself start to tremble.

"We're just gonna have a little chat Molly," he said in a deep voice.

* * *

 _Crap on a cracker! Molly's alone with Ford! I'd love to hear from you! Give me your thoughts! Hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's Day! Hugs ~Lil~_


	13. Chapter 13

_So sorry to keep you all waiting for this update. That last one was a bit cliffy, wasn't it? But I had to make sure chapter 14 was ready before I went forward with this one. Good news, 14 is ready and there will be one more after that. Thank you all so, so much for your support._

 _Huge thanks to MizJoely for her beta reading. She's a dream._

 _ **Warnings:** There's creepiness (because Ford's creepy) and cannon typical violence. _

_I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

"I-I d-don't know you," she said trying to keep her voice controlled.

His smile brightened. Though that might not have been the right word for it since it sickened her.

"What? You don't recognize me?" Closing the distance and stepping into her personal space he said, "No familial resemblance at all?" He turned his head one way, then the other. "I do look more like Myke than Locky but, surely..."

"Please..."

"Please what?" he interrupted. "Please don't hurt you?" He furrowed his brow. "You've heard the stories then."

"Please leave Sherlock alone," Molly begged.

"Oh... and the perfect woman too. His luck continues." He pulled off the cap and shook free his dark, slightly graying, curls. "I've been watching you, Dr. Hooper. You are completely devoted to my baby brother." His eyes traveled up her body, causing Molly to cringe. "And you have an amazing body, by the way. But we Holmes do have impeccable taste, if nothing else."

Molly sucked in a breath.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Like I said, I've been watching." He winked.

"He searches the flat every time we come back from..."

Sherrinford started laughing. "No, you misunderstand. I've been watching from the building across the street. I only caught one performance. The one in the sitting room. But what a lovely show."

Tears were gathering in Molly's eyes and she tried to will herself not to cry, swallowing hard. "S-so what now?"

He took a gun out of his pocket and placed it on the floor about four feet in front of her. Then he took out a medium sized knife. "Straight to the point, I knew I liked you. I wasn't very pleased to find out that Cummings went too far with his assignment. I told him to rough you up, get Sherlock's attention. Sorry that he scared you."

He actually looked contrite for a moment. Then he drew a sharp breath and clapped his hands together. "Okay, Sherlock will be here soon. So, let's get in place, shall we?" He grabbed Molly and turned her, holding her with her back against his chest and the blade of the knife close to her neck. "Now we wait for Locky. Oh Molly, this is where the fun starts." He hummed a happy tune.

Less than a minute passed before Sherlock stormed into the room. For a couple of seconds she could see the group of agents who had followed him. When he saw her and his brother Sherlock motioned for them to wait outside and let the door shut. Then he waited. He looked at her, his eyes betraying him for a split second. She saw how scared he was, how sad. It broke her heart. It was gone as quick as it came.

"Hi Locky. How ya been?" Sherrinford asked.

"Let her go Ford."

"I don't think I will." He tightened his hold. "And it's been a while, so I guess I have to remind you that I go by Alex now."

"Alex, Molly has nothing to do with this. Please leave her alone."

"You know, it's funny that you'd phrase it like that. She asked the same for you. Ahh, young love. It's really beautiful."

"How do I end this?" Sherlock asked.

"It's very easy. Pick up the gun."

Molly struggled against Ford's hold. She was terrified he was going to make Sherlock kill himself in front of her. "Please, don't!" she begged.

"Oh, calm down, Dr. Hooper. I'm not going to make Locky pull a Reichenbach. I'm a bit more original than that. No, my darling little brother's going to do me a favour. Pick up the gun. Now!"

Sherlock slowly bent down and picked up the hand gun, never taking his eyes off of his brother. "Now what?" he asked.

Sherrinford re-positioned Molly so that most of her body was covering his. "Now, you're going to shoot me in the head. If you don't, I'll just kill your girl here."

Sherlock's eyes widened. The gun remained at his side.

"It's a small favour, you know." She felt Sherrinford take a deep breath. "My mind... it never stops. Does... does yours, Sherlock? Does your mind ever just... stop? I need to die. But you need to be punished."

* * *

Sherlock was actually trembling. Molly needed him to be completely detached- completely him right now and he was _trembling_. There was no choice, of course; if he had to kill his own brother to save Molly, he would.

But there had to be another way, there was always a way.

If he killed Sherrinford there was a good chance, even with – or especially with - a dozen agents standing outside the door, that he'd be guilty of murder... again. This was Ford's punishment. He clearly knew all about the Magnuessen case via the agent on his payroll and he knew that Sherlock was as far up against it as he possibly could be. Not to mention he would have to do this in front of Molly. Even if, by some miracle he managed to get out of this with no legal repercussions, she'd never forgive him. Knowing he'd killed someone was quite different than actually watching him do it in front of her. Of course if he was sent on his mission after all, their last moments together would consist of her watching him blow his brother's brains out. How would she ever get over that, knowing the choice he'd had to make for her? Sherlock looked into his brother's eyes; they were gleeful. Ford knew that he'd won.

Sherlock's mind raced trying to find a solution that didn't end in a death. His mind palace was suddenly empty. Redbeard was gone. Molly was gone. He would have even welcomed Anderson at that moment. But no, nothing.

"Locky. Someone dies today. Who will it be?" Ford asked. "Come on, you did it for John. Does that mean Molly's not as important to you? Cummings was there, you know? I got a full report. I know what you can do when backed into a corner. So make the decision, Locky. Is she worth it? You've done it before. You can't be as pure and as sane as I always imagined."

Sherlock looked at Molly- at her face, tears were pouring down her cheeks. The look in her eyes was too painful to watch. He looked away; down to the spot on her neck where the knife was pressed against her skin. Skin he'd tasted just a few short hours before.

"Even _I've_ never actually killed anyone, Locky. You're already pretty fucked up, you know. All it'll take is a little push." He dragged out the 'sh'.

His brother was right. He'd done this before. The choice was clear.

"I'm, ah, afraid I'll h-hit Molly," Sherlock said, trying to buy a little time, what for, he didn't quite know. "I need a clean h... head shot." _Oh God, I'm going to kill my brother_ , he thought as the tremor in his hand increased.

"Aim well," Ford said through clenched teeth.

"Molly, move your head to the left," Sherlock commanded.

"No!"

"Damnit Molly, move."

"Please, Sherlock don't. Oh my God, don't do this!" she begged.

"I have to," he spit back. "Can't you see? Now move your head, Molly!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered then tucked her head down.

Sherlock raised the gun and he saw the moment that Molly felt Ford's body relax. Had he more time to think about it he would have marveled at the fact that his brother was so at ease with his own death. She grabbed Ford's hand and pulled it up to her mouth, biting down hard.

Ford screamed and dropped the knife. It fell near Molly's foot and she kicked it to Sherlock then jerked out of his brother's hold and ran to him.

With the gun still trained on Ford, Sherlock opened the door and pushed Molly out. He was following close behind her when he heard his name and stopped, though he didn't turn around.

"Look Locky. I have a toy."

He never even looked back just grabbed Molly and started screaming for everyone to run as the agents fled the immediate area. Molly was in front of him when the blast went off, knocking him on top of her, covering his back in detritus.

* * *

Miraculously, everyone was okay. Well, everyone was alive at least. Ford's bomb was quite small, really. If Sherlock and Molly had been in the room, they'd have surely died. But the blast was fairly contained. Several of the agents had injuries, some minor, some not so minor. One agent, by the name of Sanders, lost an arm. Another, Davidson, who had been clearing the floor below, was crushed by falling debris. Whether or not he'd walk again, was still unknown.

Molly was banged up, as was Sherlock. They sat in a private room talking to Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock had refused medical treatment. He was still wearing his Belstaff, although it looked liked it would need to be replaced. He insisted that Molly be seen to. She had scratches on her forehead and cheek and her sprained wrist was sore again. Otherwise she was fine and she kept telling everyone that, though no one listened.

She'd already given her statement and now she sat next to Sherlock as he replayed the events leading up to the explosion in a dispassionate monotone. He didn't look at his brother as he explained what Ford had asked of him. He didn't look at his friend, the DI, either. Molly wished more than anything for him to look at her, but he seemed focused on nothing at all.

After they'd both given their statements, Greg politely excused himself and Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "I'm, ah, so sorry, Sherlock."

Molly didn't think she was imagining some dewiness in the older man's eyes.

"I should have... protected you better," Mycroft said with a break in his voice.

Sherlock finally turned his head toward his brother. He looked at him for a long moment, though he didn't respond. Instead he turned to Molly and said, "I'm going to meet my Goddaughter." Then he left without another word.

As she rose to follow Mycroft stopped her. "Molly, wait."

She took a steadying breath and sat back down. If she was getting a Mycroft Holmes speech, after all the trauma of the day, she needed to be seated.

The older man situated himself squarely in front of her. "His next move... I can predict it."

"You think he'll go get high?"

"Oh, that's a possibility. That's always a possibility with Sherlock and you need to always remember that. But no. I was talking about something else. He'll push you away, Molly. This has all been too intense for him. Nearly losing you..." He paused. "Well, he'll want to nip it in the bud, so to speak. Attempt to protect you by putting distance between the two of you." Something changed as he walked closer, the look on his face. Molly watched as the ice melted. "You can't allow him to do this, Molly. You must hold on. Losing you now would be his undoing, even if it was by his own hand." He smiled, a small sad smile. "I've never been able to save him, you see. Not from Ford's insanity, not from Victor's drugs, not from Moriarty's games and especially not from himself. But you, Miss Hooper, you give him hope. And in the end, hope is what saves us all."

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

 _Okay... two more to go. Once I have 15 roughed out I'll post 14. Please review. I love hearing from you all. It really means the world to me. Thank you for reading. ~Lil~_


	14. Chapter 14

_A thousand apologies for the lateness of this update. However I won't make you wait for chapter 15, it's on the way. Thank you all for your patience. Your reviews and comments have kept me going. You are all wonderful. A giant thank to MizJoely for being the wolds best beta and an amazing friend. Any mistakes are mine._

 _ **Warnings:** More Ford yuckieness. Animal cruelty, but nothing graphic. Mentions of drug use._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Here's what happened at the end of chapter 13:**

 _After they'd both given their statements, Greg politely excused himself and Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "I'm, ah, so sorry, Sherlock."_

 _Molly didn't think she was imagining some dewiness in the older man's eyes._

 _"I should have... protected you better," Mycroft said with a break in his voice._

 _Sherlock finally turned his head toward his brother. He looked at him for a long moment, though he didn't respond. Instead he turned to Molly and said, "I'm going to meet my Goddaughter." Then he left without another word._

 _As she rose to follow Mycroft stopped her. "Molly, wait."_

 _She took a steadying breath and sat back down. If she was getting a Mycroft Holmes speech, after all the trauma of the day, she needed to be seated._

 _The older man situated himself squarely in front of her. "His next move... I can predict it."_

 _"You think he'll go get high?"_

 _"Oh, that's a possibility. That's always a possibility with Sherlock and you need to always remember that. But no. I was talking about something else. He'll push you away, Molly. This has all been too intense for him. Nearly losing you..." He paused. "Well, he'll want to nip it in the bud, so to speak. Attempt to protect you by putting distance between the two of you." Something changed as he walked closer, the look on his face. Molly watched as the ice melted. "You can't allow him to do this, Molly. You must hold on. Losing you now would be his undoing, even if it was by his own hand." He smiled, a small sad smile. "I've never been able to save him, you see. Not from Ford's insanity, not from Victor's drugs, not from Moriarty's games and especially not from himself. But you, Miss Hooper, you give him hope. And in the end, hope is what saves us all."_

 _Then he turned and walked out of the room._

* * *

Molly joined Sherlock in the Watson's room and tried to act normal, she really did. Clearly Mary and John weren't buying it. Neither of them asked any questions, so she assumed Sherlock had filled them in. After a few minutes John told them both to go home and get some sleep. Kisses and hugs were exchanged, she and Sherlock made their way to a waiting government car.

The ride was silent and excruciating. Mycroft's words kept replaying in Molly's mind. _Losing you would be his undoing_... She had no idea how to keep Sherlock from kicking her out, breaking things off. The one thing she _did_ know was that she loved him and would do whatever took to keep him healthy and safe. But as close as they'd become, he was still, in many ways, a complete mystery.

They'd never put any kind of label on their relationship, not really. Sherlock had been clear that he wanted more than sex, but he'd actually never said that he loved her. Calling her _love_ didn't mean that was what he felt. Hell, the cashier at her favorite deli called her love.

He didn't speak a word on the trip back to Baker Street. She was still trying to figure everything out when she heard the driver announce that they'd arrived. They walked up to the flat, not touching or talking. Once inside Sherlock just stood there, frozen.

She waited for a couple of minutes then finally decided she had to do something. "Sherlock, we need to get clean- get all this dust off of us." She took his hand. "Shower. Come on." Tugging on his hand she guided him into the bathroom. Once in the room he just stood there, motionless. "Well, at least you followed me."

After removing her clothes she started on his. Halfway through the process his eyes finally focused on her. She'd never seen him look so tired, so completely lost. Though he was looking at her she had no idea if he was really _with_ her. "Hey, I'm here. Touch me," she said hoping it would elicit some kind of response. But it didn't, he just stared at her with those impossible eyes, studying her like she was something brand new. She sighed and turned on the shower. "Get in, Sherlock. Please." He stepped into the tub and Molly followed, nudging him under the spray. She cleaned him first, washing his hair thoroughly then she gently washed his body, using her hands rather than a flannel. His ribs were bruised, but not broken. She'd taken the brunt of his fall and though she knew she'd be sore for days, she counted herself very lucky - no blessed - to have walked away from today with only a few scrapes and bruises.

When finished, she traded places with him and quickly took care of herself. Sherlock was slightly more responsive after the shower, actually participating in drying himself but still not speaking. He sat on the closed toilet while Molly plaited her hair and took care of her contacts. She turned to him when she was done holding out her hand. "Bed?" He gave her an odd look, but then nodded, taking her hand and following her to his room.

Once in the room he lay down immediately, not bothering with clothes, just covering himself with a sheet. Molly grabbed a pair of pants and a tee-shirt, dressing quickly, then crawled in next to him. "Sherlock, please say something. You're scaring me," she said hovering over him slightly, cupping his cheek with her hand. "Don't do this to me, don't shut me out. I couldn't bear to lose you now," she pleaded.

Sherlock turned to her, finally looking like himself for a moment and said, "Go to sleep, Molly. You've been through hell. We'll talk in the morning."

Molly sighed, feeling slightly better having gotten a response from him, even if it wasn't the response she had wanted. Then she curled up next to him, careful not to put too much pressure on his ribs and fell asleep.

* * *

He may have appeared calm on the outside, but Sherlock's mind was racing. He was completely panicking. Molly had nearly died. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Ford's knife at her throat. Her beautiful, perfect throat. And of course he'd had a bomb. _How did I miss that?_ he asked himself over and over. Suddenly a memory took him over without warning.

" _Locky! Come on, I have a toy!" Ford said as he yanked Sherlock up off the ground. He'd been watching an ant hill at the foot of his favorite tree._

" _I'm busy, Ford," a six year old Sherlock told his big brother._

" _This'll be fun! Look." Ford held out his hand and showed Sherlock a Catherine Wheel._

" _Where'd you get that?"_

" _Doesn't matter." The older boy raced off and Sherlock followed._

 _They ran to a clearing a hundred yards or so from his tree. Sherlock saw a small pile of sticks a few feet away._

" _Wait here while I set this up," Ford instructed._

 _He had a bad feeling, but he usually did when his brother involved him in something. Ford lit it and ran back to him. There was a small explosion, then Ford laughed and cheered._

 _"Did you see that, Locky? Wasn't it great?"_

 _The boys approached the small smoldering pile of debris. What Sherlock saw nearly stopped his heart. "Why would you do that Ford?" he asked._

" _Why not? They were just stupid birds!"_

" _Baby birds!" Sherlock yelled. "They couldn't get away. And you killed them!"_

" _You're such a pussy! You're just lucky it wasn't you!" He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders tightly. "Don't tell mum or dad or it will be! Understand?"_

Sherlock rubbed his hand over his face then looked down at a sleeping Molly next to him. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. How could he visit all his demons on her? He shouldn't have touched her, not once. Giving her up would tear him apart, but he'd do it... for her he'd do anything. He brushed his fingers across her forehead. _Oh God, I'm going to break her heart,_ he thought. Taking a deep breath he entered his mind palace, hoping to find some answers.

 _He found himself in the lounge of flat he'd rented when he was at university._ Why? _he wondered._ Oh, not again.

" _Ya know, I'm starting to think that you miss me Will," a familiar voice called out from the kitchen._

 _Sherlock looked up to see Victor leaned up against the doorway, a sandwich in his hand. "Really? Why is it always you?"_

" _As I explained before, it's_ your _mind. I have no idea why you choose me as a conduit." He took a bite and strolled into the room._

 _Sherlock sat down on the busted sofa, running his hands through his hair. Vic sat across from him and continued to eat._

" _Why are you always eating and drinking?" Sherlock asked._

" _Well, I actually have a theory about that. I think I represent sin in your fucked up mind. Lust and Gluttony. Remember last time I had a sweet piece of ass with me." He chuckled then took another bite. When he finally swallowed he said, "Would you rather I be doing coke off of your toilet seat?"_

 _Sherlock grimaced._

" _I didn't think so." He tossed the remnants of the sandwich on the coffee table and dusted off his hands. "Let's talk, Will."_

 _He sighed. "Fine, but what's the point? You know everything I know. It doesn't change the facts."_

" _Perspective, my morose friend. That's why you conjured me." He leaned forward. "You can't let her go."_

" _I have to."_

" _No. Actually you have a choice. You_ could _send her away, sure. Causing an untold amount of heartache for the both of you_ _._ _Or you could keep her. Protect her, like you did tonight."_

 _Sherlock jumped up from the sofa and started pacing. "She nearly died!" he growled._

" _Not really," Vic replied casually._

 _He looked at his dead friend like he'd lost his mind. "Not really? Ford held a knife to her neck. He had a bomb the entire time! He would have killed her in an instant!"_

" _Are you saying that you would have let that happen?" Vic asked._

" _Of course not! I- I... no!"_

 _Vic stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Sherlock. "Well then, there you go. She didn't_ nearly die _."_

" _But she was in danger!" Sherlock argued._

 _Victor rolled his eyes. "Okay fine. She was in danger. Jesus, she's in danger riding the Tube these days. If you think for a moment this is to do with your psychopathic brother, you're wrong." He grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands. "You're scared. Guess what? Life's fucking scary, Will. But you get to live it, unlike some of us." He patted Sherlock's cheek. "You'll be okay. But you need to tell her, you know."_

 _He dropped his hands and walked to the front door._

" _I don't want to hurt her."_

 _Vic turned just before he left. "Then don't."_

Sherlock opened his eyes to see that Molly had rolled over and was facing the other way. He got up and, as quietly as possible, he got dressed. He had to talk to someone. A _living_ person...

* * *

Twenty minutes later Mycroft Holmes was answering his door, not at all surprised to see his little brother at 4.43 in the morning. He hadn't slept anyway.

"Ah Sherlock. Do come in," he said as he stepped aside.

"How?" Sherlock asked in lieu of a greeting.

"How?" Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I'm exhausted. Please elaborate." He turned and walked down the hall to his kitchen. His staff was gone so he immediately started making them both a cup of tea.

"How did Ford get the weapons and bomb into Barts?"

"Sit before you fall over." He ignored the question until he was finished preparing the tea and had given Sherlock his beverage. Once seated, he took a sip then said, "You know exactly how he did it, Sherlock."

He shook his head. "I can't think right now, Myke. Memories. Vic. _Molly_. My mind won't stop. Just _tell_ me so I don't have to work it out."

"No, figure it out. Concentrate. It will help you centre. You need something on which to focus."

Sherlock gave him a petulant glare that reminded him all too much of a much younger version of the man. It made his chest ache. No one could cause Mycroft Holmes to lose control of his emotions like his baby brother. It didn't happen often, but after the experiences of the day, he allowed it. Finally Sherlock drew a deep breath and brought his hands up to his mouth in his thinking pose. Mycroft leaned back and relaxed just bit. He knew that if Sherlock could calm him down and fix his mind on a single task it would help to bring him some peace and they could move on to the real matter at hand.

"He knew we'd use Barts. He brought the bomb in bit by bit."

"Good. And the gun? The knife?"

"Service entrances aren't guarded. He disguised himself. Then brought them in and hid them. Like I said, he knew us too well." When he opened his eyes they were red, blood-shot.

"We made a mistake. We should have chosen another hospital." Mycroft leaned on his elbows. "She's safe now."

"And next time?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "There are few guarantees in this life, brother mine. You cannot assure her safety at all times. But she loves you, for that you can be sure."

"When did you start caring?"

Mycroft smiled as he held back tears, but just barely. "The day you were born," he said, once again allowing himself this one moment.

Sherlock cleared his throat, then took a drink of his tea. "Fine," he said. "You win. But we do this my way and as much as it pains me, I'll need your help."

"Of course," Mycroft said with a deep sigh.

* * *

 _Thanks again for being so patient with me. Chapter 15 is on the way. Please give me a shout out and tell me what you think (it really does help keep me motivated!) ~Lil~_


	15. Chapter 15

_I can't apologize enough for taking so long to finish this story. I can't even blame real life this time, it was something totally different. Once I got most of the story posted my original ending just didn't fit. It took me a while to finally decide what I wanted to do, and here we have it._

 _Thank you all for making this story so successful and making me feel so appreciated (and for being so patient). I want to thank MizJoely for her constant support and friendship. She beta'd this whole thing and made it so much better. Also big thanks to MrsMCrieff for all her Brit help, without her I'm just an ignorant girl from Ohio who knows nothing about British toilets._

 _ **Warnings**_ _: Mentions of childhood trauma and more about Redbeard's death (nothing graphic)._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 ** _This is a refresher from chapter 14:_**

 _Sherlock gave him a petulant glare that reminded him all too much of a much younger version of the man. It made his chest ache. No one could cause Mycroft Holmes to lose control of his emotions like his baby brother. It didn't happen often, but after the experiences of the day, he allowed it. Finally Sherlock drew a deep breath and brought his hands up to his mouth in his thinking pose. Mycroft leaned back and relaxed just bit. He knew that if Sherlock could calm him down and fix his mind on a single task it would help to bring him some peace and they could move on to the real matter at hand._

 _"He knew we'd use Barts. He brought the bomb in bit by bit."_

 _"Good. And the gun? The knife?"_

 _"Service entrances aren't guarded. He disguised himself. Then brought them in and hid them. Like I said, he knew us too well." When he opened his eyes they were red, blood-shot._

 _"We made a mistake. We should have chosen another hospital." Mycroft leaned on his elbows. "She's safe now."_

 _"And next time?" Sherlock asked._

 _Mycroft shook his head. "There are few guarantees in this life, brother mine. You cannot assure her safety at all times. But she loves you, for that you can be sure."_

 _"When did you start caring?"_

 _Mycroft smiled as he held back tears, but just barely. "The day you were born," he said, once again allowing himself this one moment._

 _Sherlock cleared his throat, then took a drink of his tea. "Fine," he said. "You win. But we do this my way and as much as it pains me, I'll need your help."_

 _"Of course," Mycroft said with a deep sigh._

* * *

 ** _Chapter 15_**

Mycroft and Sherlock stood outside their childhood home enjoying a much needed reprieve and a couple of cigarettes.

The older Holmes turned to his younger brother and said, "So, 221B Baker Street is now the second safest private residence in England."

Sherlock's expression didn't change, he just took another long drag.

"The room has been... prepared."

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is pleased," the younger man finally replied.

"She wasn't pleased with the noise," Mycroft commented, remembering the tongue-lashing he'd received from the woman.

Sherlock chuckled.

"She seems to have acquired a cat, by the way."

"That's Toby, Molly's cat. He abandoned her about a week into their stay. I'm certain Mrs. Hudson is sharing her herbal soothers with him. I can think of no other reason why he so easily shifted his affection," he said with a smirk.

Suddenly the front door opened and Molly stepped out. Both men instinctively hid their fags behind their backs.

"I know what you two are doing and I'm not any happier about it than your mother would be. Come wash your hands; no one wants to smell that. And Sherlock, if you want a kiss anytime soon, brush your teeth." She looked at Mycroft and winked. "You too, Myke."

Mycroft tossed his butt to the ground. "Your girlfriend is insufferable. No wonder the cat left her."

* * *

When lunch was finished Sherlock asked Molly to take a walk with him. Gathering up a large blanket that was laying on a bench in the hall, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the house. She couldn't help but smile. It was their last night in Surrey and she had a feeling they were going to do a little heavy petting in the forest. _Maybe I can get him to play Big Bad Wolf_ , she thought with a private giggle. He took her deep into the woods that surrounded his parents' property. They walked for nearly forty minutes in the late winter afternoon.

"Sherlock, are you taking me somewhere specific?" Molly asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

"Of course I am, Molly, I do nothing without a purpose."

"Care to share?"

"We'll be there soon," he replied, hugging her closer as they continued on at a leisurely pace.

Ten minutes later they were at the mouth of a small, nearly hidden cave. "We're still on my parents property. I had to take you the long way, since I didn't think you would appreciate all the climbing involved in the short-cut. Especially in that skirt."

He moved off to the side maybe fifteen feet away and started clearing away brush. Finally Molly saw it, a small stone with the letter R carved into it.

"We buried him here. _Redbeard_." He spoke the name reverently.

Even though he didn't say who helped him she assumed he was talking about his father. It seemed like something Si would do. After a few minutes Sherlock sat down on a large flat rock and got an odd look in his eyes.

"You know how kids... well, probably boys more than girls... they wrestle? Play fight?" He wasn't looking at her his eyes were focused off in the distance. "Ford was so much older than me, so much bigger. Sometimes he'd start wrestling with me, saying that it was his job to toughen me up. 'That's what big brothers are for,' he'd say. Of course it was just an excuse to beat me up. There was this one time, I was just a little thing, and Ford kept pushing me down, picking me back up and knocking me down again. Over and over, he just kept doing it. Later, when I was older, I realised that it was very calculated. He could argue that I fell down if Mummy saw the marks or I ever told… which I never did. It was a good plan, if you think about it."

He paused; she could tell it was this was a difficult memory to share. Her heart was aching for him.

"Mycroft found us. I was crying, of course, and muddy. He pulled Ford away from me and threw him to the ground."

He finally looked at her. God, he looked like a lost little boy.

"I thought Mycroft was gonna kill him, Molly," he whispered then diverted his eyes once again. "He just kept punching. I tried to stop him, but it was useless. Finally dad came running up and pulled him off. He was furious. I'd never seen Myke in trouble before, and it was _my fault_. He was defending _me_." His breath had become ragged. "I watched my dad give him hell for several minutes, then I looked at Ford." There was a short pause then he said, "He was _smiling_. He had blood in his mouth and smeared across his face but he just smiled. It wasn't the smile of a brother pleased that his older sibling was getting his arse torn apart. There was something sickening about it. One word appeared in my mind at that moment..." Sherlock's eyes met hers she and it chilled her to the bone. "... _evil_. I always think of it as my first deduction."

Standing up, he walked back to the cave. Molly followed. He turned to face her once he got to the entrance.

"So I ran. I ran into the woods and didn't stop until I found this cave. Sherrinford never found it. When I needed to get away, I'd come here." He looked down and kicked a piece of bark with his designer shoes. "I just wanted to share it with you. I'm… not sure why."

Molly put one hand on his chest and the other against his cheek. "I'm glad you did. Are you okay? Do you need a moment alone?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "There's something else I want to show you." Taking her hand he said, "This way."

Soon they were at a clearing with just a smattering of trees. Sherlock laid down the blanket he'd brought under large Hawthorn and sat down, his back against the trunk.

"On my lap," he said with a smirk, patting his thighs.

Straddling his legs, Molly leaned in and pressed a kiss to those smug lips. He seemed to have recovered from the moment at the cave. She was glad, since he'd been through so much. Several times over the last two weeks she'd noticed a particular look on his face or stillness she normally associated with a visit to his mind palace but lately it had been different. She knew he was lost in memories of his dead brother and wanted to comfort him, she just wasn't sure how. Sherlock could be an intensely private man, though she was as much a part of his private life as she could possibly hope, she didn't want to push him. In the end she decided to just be there and let him talk about things when he was ready.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, it's not bad today. And I wore layers," she said with a smile.

"Of course, you and your layers. Well, I need to tell you some things." He drew a deep breath and took both of her hands in his. Though he looked a little nervous his eyes never left hers. After a moment he said, "I'm completely in love with you, in every way possible."

Molly smiled. She knew it. She'd felt it since he'd shown back up the morning after Ford's death. But to hear it… well, that was something else entirely.

Sherlock's expression was nearly blank, though he still looked a bit nervous when he started talking again. "It's strange, I don't know when it happened. I should, of course, but I can't pinpoint it." He looked down at their hands and worried his lip. "Was it when you were injured? When we first made love? Or was it long before that?" He held her hands tightly, rubbing his thumbs over her palms. "It's disturbing that I can't figure it out."

"Why?" Molly asked, shaking her hands free and bringing them up to his face. "Why does it matter?"

He instantly closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Licking his lips he said, "It just does," in a raspy voice. He opened his eyes. "I should be able to tell you the moment I knew. This seems too important not to know."

"That's how it works in films, Sherlock, not real life."

"But you know, don't you?" he asked.

She had to think about it for a moment. "I don't, actually. Ah… At first I was attracted to you, but that was mostly sexual. For a short time I didn't think I liked you much at all," she said with a smile. "Then I got to know you, the real you, and I… well it was a slow thing, Sherlock. So no, I can't tell you when I fell in love with you."

He visibly relaxed. "I think that's how it was for me… a progression, an evolution of sorts."

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to equate love to some kind of science. Molly just nodded and smiled. "Is there more or can we get down to a little forest snog?"

He sighed. "There's more," he said as he moved his hands to her thighs. "I've made some changes to the flat."

 _The flat?_ She wondered where this was going. "What sort of changes?"

"John's old room, for instance. It's been cleaned out and painted. It could be used for an office or a lab or a nursery. Maybe even a billiard room." His tone was light, but his face betrayed him.

All the air left Molly's lungs at once. Finally she remembered she was supposed to breathe and managed to ask, "A n-nursery, why would you need a nursery. Do- do you know something about me that I don't?"

"No- no... no! It's j-just an idea," he said nervously. "It could be any… kind of room actually. Doesn't have to be a nursery, necessarily. That was merely a suggestion. One of many, if you noticed."

Molly released a breath as she realised that he was just… well, she wasn't sure _what_ that was all about. But at least he wasn't trying to hint at an unplanned pregnancy. "Okay, that freaked me out. Any other changes?"

"Security measures, mostly. And I've had all of your belongings moved in. You live with me now," he said casually.

Just when she'd started breathing properly again, he threw something like _that_ at her. _The high-handed git._ "I know this is all new to you, Sherlock, but usually there's a conversation before the breaking of leases and such."

"Mycroft took care of that," he said with a wave of his hand.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Sherlock moved her hand and said, "All right. Molly will you move in with me… please?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"If I say no I suppose I'll have to go to a homeless shelter."

" _Molly…_ " he warned.

"You're lucky you're so handsome, Sherlock Holmes!"

"There's more."

"Of course there is," Molly said, trying to decide if she was mad or not. She hated her flat, but... _ask for heaven's sake!_ "Let's hear it."

"That necklace you've been wearing..."

She looked down at the tiny piece of art lying on her chest. It was a round and clearly hand painted replica of Di Vinci's Vitruvian Man. He'd given it to her two days after the incident. It was stunning and she absolutely loved it. The gesture alone had melted her heart. It was romantic and thoughtful and…

"...it's a tracking device."

Molly sighed. "Of course it is," she said folding her arms across her chest.

"You're angry." His hands moved to her hips.

"Have you lost your mind? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I- I probably should have, I know. But I felt like this all needed to be said at once. I was taking care of things, making plans. _Important plans, Molly_. "

There was an edge to his voice now; she knew what that edge meant. Leaning closer she said, "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. Ford's gone. I'm safe."

He gripped her hips tighter, almost painfully. "You of all people know what I attract. My life is dangerous. If you're going to be a part of it I have to know that you'll be safe." He swallowed. "This is my… this is the only way. If you can't..." His head dropped slightly. "If you don't want to live like this... I would understand."

"You ridiculous man." She tipped his head up. "I will wear your fucking tracking necklace and live in your Fortress of Solitude. Of course I will. I'd live in a Turkish prison to be with you."

"I've been in a Turkish prison, Molly. I don't recommend, nor would I ask it."

"It was a movie reference, Sherlock."

"As was the Fortress of Solitude, I assume?"

Molly sighed and shook her head.

He took her face between his large hands and his eyes went from playful to intense in a millisecond. "If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say you stay in the bloody flat because it's too dangerous to leave, you must listen, do you understand me?"

All she could do was nod.

"Good." He gave her a soft kiss then released her. "One more thing," he said as he reached inside his breast pocket.

* * *

Mycroft sat alone in his parents lounge, sipping scotch and becoming more and more morose by the minute. _This place holds too many ghosts,_ he thought as he took in his surroundings. Suddenly he found himself remembering a night he thought he'd locked safely away along with so many other unpleasant memories.

 _Sherlock was still kneeling next to the body of his dead dog as paramedics and several policemen strapped Ford to a stretcher. His brother was hysterically screaming. Ford had come to just as the police arrived, Mycroft right behind them. The younger man was making quite a scene._

 _Mycroft followed the stretcher out to the ambulance. Just before they loaded it Ford's rant went from cursing threats to begging them to stop. Suddenly he was pleading to speak with his brother. With a wave of his hand, Mycroft cleared the immediate area._

" _How can you stand him?" Ford asked. "He's not like us, Myke. He's so…_ human _." The last word was spit out in disgust. "He's weak. He's small. Yet everyone loves him so fucking much! You always protect him! But what about me?" His body suddenly relaxed and his voice softened. "No one protects me," he said looking up at the night sky. "No one tries to save me."_

 _As Mycroft backed away and allowed Ford to be loaded he whispered, "I couldn't save you both."_

 _He went back inside and sat at his teenage brother's side while he relayed the events of the evening. When it was finished he forced Sherlock into the shower and returned to the crime scene._

" _We're finished with the photos, Mr. Holmes. Do you want us to remove this?" a young forensic tech asked._

" _I'll take care of the dog. Thank you."_

 _The next morning he woke Sherlock and asked where he wanted to bury his pet. Sherlock insisted on carving a stone to mark the grave. It was the last time Mycroft would see his little brother cry, at least while sober._

"Heaven's sake, Mycroft. It's a bit early for scotch," his mother's voice rang through the room, and pulled him out of his somber memories.

He cleared his throat and said, "Lunch was divine, Mummy."

She nodded in agreement. Modesty wasn't one of her strong suits. "Where have your brother and Molly gotten off to? Shagging in the woods?"

He grimaced. "I wasn't in need of that particular visual."

"I'm not concerned about that, I'd better get a grandbaby and soon!"

"Mummy!"

"I like that girl, Myke, and she's good for him. Sherlock needs to do whatever it takes to make this work," she said as she mixed herself a highball.

"I've been reliably informed that he is indeed taking care of the situation." He stood up and joined her at the sideboard. "I thought it was too early to drink?"

She gave him a look that said, 'don't scold me, boy' then started to move away.

He stopped her with an arm to her shoulder. "How are you, really?"

She froze, her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"Mummy, I'm…"

"Don't you dare. Sherrinford…" She swallowed. "You did the best you could Myke, we all did." Touching his cheek gently, a gesture he welcomed even if he wouldn't admit it to a living soul, she said, "You were born forty years old, did you know that? So much responsibility, too much. Ford's problems were not your fault. It took me years and a lot of expensive therapy but I know they weren't mine either. You always kept us all safe, you always do. My beautiful boy."

She had tears in her eyes, but they never fell. No, Violet Holmes was not a cryer, at least Mycroft had never witnessed such a thing.

Turning away and taking a drink, she sniffed conspicuously. "Now, enough with this emotional nonsense. Your father has been outside trimming, of all things." She rolled her eyes. "Go check on him and make sure he has all of his fingers."

"Of course, Mummy," Mycroft said with a smile, then he kissed her cheek and walked out to check on his father. _Trimming_ was code for 'go make sure your father isn't sad'. Mummy wasn't good at dealing with Father's emotions.

* * *

Sherlock was lying on the blanket with Molly on his chest, her head resting on top of his heart. It was disgustingly romantic and he couldn't stop smiling. She held up her left hand for the eleventh time since they'd reclined, admiring her newest piece of jewelry.

"Tell me about it, the ring. It's old, there must be a story," she said, turning her head and looking up at him. "It's not a panic button, is it?"

He ignored her bad joke. Most of her jokes were terrible; he loved them all. "It belonged to my father's mother."

"Why doesn't your mother wear it? I've seen her engagement ring."

"Well, Mummy evidently hated the woman. When Dad proposed she said no. Then told him to get a new ring and try again, that she'd not wear anything that had once been on _that_ woman's finger."

Molly sat up and started laughing. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. Dad speaks very highly of his mother. I never met her, she passed before I was born. Mummy won't talk about her at all," he explained. "I have no idea what happened between those women, but it must have been bad." He looked down at her hand which was resting on his chest. "Do you like it or did I just ruin it?"

She laughed. "Of course not. I love it. Will you mother have a problem with me wearing it?"

He pulled her back down, this time on top of him, rearranging his coat so that she was once again covered up. "No, she knew it was in Mycroft's vault and that one of us might use it some day. Besides, she'll just be thrilled that I've managed to secure you." He winked. "The ring will be of little importance.

Molly started biting her lip, and he could tell there was something on her mind. He always knew. "What is it, love?"

"What you said earlier about a nursery. That was a bit sneaky, you know, trying to figure out if I want children. You could just ask me."

He stared up into her big brown eyes and asked, "Molly Hooper, would you like to have my babies?"

Her smile was almost blinding. "Yes, yes I would," she said before leaning down and kissing him breathless. She kissed both of his cheeks and his neck then laid back down, snuggling in close.

It was starting to get cold, which meant they'd have to go back to the house soon. Besides, they still had to pack before heading back home. _Home_. He liked the sound of that. _We have a home_... _Together_.

"You said babies, Sherlock. How many babies do you want?" she asked a few minutes later.

Even considering everything that had happened, Sherlock couldn't imagine growing up an only child. His brother's had shaped him, made him into the man he was. For a long time that man was full of resentment, anger and even a little self pity. But the last few years had changed his outlook on things, and the woman by his side had made him see the advantage in caring and being truly cared for by someone else.

He patted her rear and she raised up. "Come on, let's head back."

Taking her hand, they started back toward his parents house. "I think we should have at least two children, Molly, don't you?"

She stopped walking and kissed him. "That's a good start, my love."

* * *

 _That's the end. Please let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading. ~Lil~_


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